Always Searching
by somehowunbroken
Summary: Almost as soon as she leaves NCIS, Ziva is captured. What ensues involves pain, betrayal, heartbreak, and searching. Lots of searching.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Oh, I only wish.

Summary: Almost as soon as she leaves NCIS, Ziva is captured. What ensues involves pain, betrayal, heartbreak, and searching. Lots of searching.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including Aliyah is fair game. Season 6 is especially spoiled in here.

* * *

She would not cry out.

It did not matter what they did, what they tried, how they hurt her, how she wanted to scream. She would not cry out.

She had nothing to say to them anyway; really, they wanted information that she was unable but also unwilling to share. Even if she had known those things – access codes, movements, names, numbers – she would say nothing to the men who tortured her day in and day out.

They were good at what they did; she would give them that. They used many of the same techniques that she had learned during her own training. Along with those techniques, she had learned how to resist, so those were the tools she employed now.

Now, as she heard the door creak open. Now, as she felt the long, slow steps on the floor. Now, as she felt the hand grasp the chain around her neck and _pull_ so hard that it cut into her neck before it snapped. Now, as he lifted her head violently and she gasped in pain – _damn it_ – now, she would use everything she had ever learned to tell him nothing.

Her surprise was not evident; nothing could be discerned from her swollen face. This was a different man than the ones who had been screaming at her since her… arrival. They had yelled, whispered, threatened, conversed in front of her, all in Arabic that she pretended not to understand. This man, however, smiled as if recalling a joke that only he knew, a joke that involved a woman strapped to a chair and bloodied and beaten and giving a small gasp of pain – before he bent to speak in her face. English.

"Tell me everything you know about NCIS."

* * *

Author's note: I can't even tell you how much I love to read comments. It's a lot. It's Abby-and-her-Caf-Pow lots. Please feel free to comment on any and all things that you loved, hated, or were indifferent about. Comment early, comment often.


	2. Chapter 1

"_Man, deep voice, slightly accented, 6'3", 200 pounds, Prada suit, Italian shoes, standing on the north side of the street, looking for Ziva?"_

_Tony was holding her phone out to her, and as Ziva reached for it, knowing that it was Michael -_

- everything went dark.

---

_Ziva. Ziva, wake up._

Ziva moaned.

_Can you hear me, you crazy ninja chick? Wake up!_

"Tony…" she moaned again. "Leave me alone. It is too early for work."

_I thought you started at 0500 at Mossad._

"Nobody is perfect," she rasped. "I am used to NCIS hours now. It is not yet 0700."

_And how do you know that?_

Ziva finally forced her eyes open. "It is dark. It is summer now, and at 0700 in the summer, it is light." She turned, eyes searching for Tony.

Reality came back to her as she glanced around the room. Not the same room; this one was smaller, no window. No chair, either; Ziva stretched her arms out and felt the glorious freedom of movement that she had been missing. She smiled, or tried to, though her face was battered. She stretched her legs-

-and screamed. She caught herself and silenced the sound, but the pain was etched into her memory. Ziva carefully felt down her body with her hands, searching for injuries, as she should have done before trying to move. Everything felt tender, bruised, swollen, and she knew she'd been beaten badly. She caught her breath when her hands reached the calf of her left leg. That's why they hadn't bothered to keep her tied up, then. She wouldn't be able to stand on the leg the way it was broken, let alone try to escape.

"Bastards," she swore to herself.

_I agree._

Ziva whirled her head around the room again. "Are you here?" she asked cautiously.

_Um… yes. And… no?_

Ziva's growl turned to a wince as she continued her self-examination and found the bones in her foot crushed, as if someone had stepped on her foot. Repeatedly.

_That's exactly what happened,_ Not-There-Tony said.

"If you are there and you are not there…" Ziva trailed off; she had no idea how to ask what she wanted to ask. She shook her head after a moment, realizing how crazy the whole situation was. Tony was clearly not here. She was alone, captured, and nobody in NCIS even knew that she was in danger. _And they probably wouldn't care,_ she mentally added.

_Why would you say that?_ Not-Tony's voice asked, sounding hurt.

"Stop that," she growled. "Stop… stop not being there and being there and… and… whatever else it is that you are doing, stop it!"

Silence.

Then, _You really are crazy now, aren't you, ninja chick? You're doing this to yourself, you know. I'm a figment of your imagination. If you want me gone so badly, make me go._

Ziva was fairly certain that her own imagination had never taunted her before. "Well," she muttered, "there is a first time for everything."

--

Tony flipped his cell phone open, then closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open-

"DiNozzo, either make the damn phone call or put the phone away," Gibbs said from across the bullpen. Startled, Tony dropped the phone onto his desk. Closed.

"Sorry, boss," he said immediately, instinctively, almost ritualistically. He had nothing to apologize for, honestly. Open. "It's not that I don't want to make the call-" Closed.

"What, Tony, did you forget her number?" McGee's sardonic tone was not appreciated. Open.

"Ha ha, Probie," Tony said, humor clearly not in his voice. "I never knew the number." Closed.

The phone was suddenly not in his hand, and Gibbs stood in front of his desk, holding the small device. "She'll call when she's ready," he quietly affirmed. "You know she'll call."

Tony lowered his voice. "It's been two weeks, boss. Not a call yet. Not an email, a voicemail, a letter, no smoke signals-"

"She'll call when she's ready," Gibbs repeated. "Not before that." He flipped the phone back to Tony and walked to the elevator.

"She'll call," Tony muttered to himself. He put the phone down, hesitated, picked it back up.

Open.

--

"How long have I been here?" Ziva asked aloud.

_Four days,_ came the reply. _In this room about an hour and a half._

"Why am I talking to a hallucination?" she wondered.

_I'm good company?_

She snorted. "I could think of better."

_Obviously not, or they'd be here, and I'd be in some dark recess of your mind._

Ziva scowled. Great. Now she was annoying herself.

"Okay," she said eventually. "I need to find a way out of here."

Her delusion came to her aid. _On the way in here, from the other room, there's another hallway, and I think there's a door at the end of it. It might go outside – that wall is connected to the wall with the window. With the chair._

Ziva chose to ignore the angry, helpless tone of Not-There-Tony's voice as he described the room where she'd been… injured. She realized that she wanted to avoid that subject as much as possible.

"Did you go out scouting while I was unconscious?" she asked, idly wondering how far she could trust this hallucination of hers.

_I only know what you know,_ was the immediate reply. _I'm a figment of your imagination, remember? You saw it when they dragged you in here. You weren't unconscious, not really. Not until they left you in here._

"Oh," she said. That made sense. Didn't it?

Her delusion chuckled. _Yeah. You're officially insane, Zee-vah._

--

"I will not say it again, Hadar." Eli David's voice was firm. "Find her."

Amit Hadar closed his phone, knowing that the Director had already hung up. He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What does he expect? I am no miracle worker."

"He expects you to do your job, Amit."

Hadar looked to his left at his partner, Miriyam Gonen. She was much younger than he was, but no less cynical; in fact, at times he was fairly certain that Miriyam thought even less of the world than he did.

"And I will do my job, Miri," Hadar finally responded. "I will find his Ziva. I just…"

"It will not be too late." Miri refused to look him in the eyes, choosing instead to pull her knife from its hiding spot near her waist and inspect the blade.

Hadar bit his own tongue; Miri was truly the last person that the Director should have sent with him on this doomed mission. Sending his daughter's best friend to search for what would certainly be her broken body was like Director David killing his own daughter twice. Once, when he had sent Ziva to finish Michael Rivkin's dangerous mission; again when he sent the only remaining link he had to his daughter into the wild, where dying in the search might not be the worst thing that could happen.

"We will find her," Miri reaffirmed. "We will save her."

_So cynical,_ thought Hadar, _and yet so naïve._


	3. Chapter 2

"Why have they not yet come back for me?"

_Why would that upset you?_ Tony countered. When had she started pretending he was actually there?

"It bothers me to not know what is coming. Would that not bother you?"

_Maybe they're trying to scare you._

Ziva snorted. "Yes. Being alone in here is so frightening."

_It's clearly driven you crazy,_ Tony pointed out. _Well, crazier. You weren't exactly the poster girl for sanity before, what with the knives and guns and-_

"Thank you," she muttered.

"You are welcome," a voice said. Very close, male, only slightly familiar. Ziva stiffened. How could she have let her guard down so much as to not have heard her captors returning? "Although why you thank me is a baffling question indeed."

--

"What have we heard?" Miri asked. Always practical, always… well, _usually_ professional, Hadar thought. This would be difficult.

"Not much, Miri. We have heard that she is in Africa, but as you have no doubt learned, that is a rather large place."

"Well, we have to begin somewhere, yes?" Miri ignored the slight helplessness she felt. _Pretend that it is someone else,_ she told herself for the hundredth? thousandth? time. _It is… Noach,_ she decided. _Noach, not Ziva._

Hadar sighed. "Yes. Somewhere. Somewhere in Africa."

--

"I want to know where she _is_," Gibbs growled. Vance looked up, unimpressed.

"You let her go, Gibbs. She's not a part of your team any more." Vance paused. "Let it go. She's no longer your responsibility."

Gibbs simply stared at him, saying nothing. Vance did his best to stare back, but the older man's patience in anger was uncanny. After a few moments, Vance sighed.

"She's _not_ your responsibility. But," he added, "I will get in touch with Director David. He should be able to give us a thumbs-up, at least."

Gibbs walked from the office without a word. As he descended the stairs into the bullpen, Tony looked up from his desk. His arm was out of the sling; though he was not yet back in the field, Tony was recovering nicely from the wounds received in his fight with Rivkin.

"Boss?" Gibbs wondered when his senior field agent's voice had gone so flat. It hadn't been this bad when Kate had- but then, Tony hadn't felt responsible for that. Not really. Gibbs shook his head and Tony slumped slightly in his seat.

"Get going on that paperwork, DiNozzo," he said gruffly. "Vance said he's gonna ask Mossad about her."

Tony picked listlessly through the stack of papers on his desk. He pulled a few pages from near the bottom, scanning through and pulling up a document on his computer. He was set to begin his hunt-and-peck typing when a voice sounded from just in front of his desk.

"Tony?" He looked up and blinked.

"Abby? Do you have something?" Tony reached for the paper in her hands, but Abby held it just out of his reach and shook her head.

"I need you to do something for me," Abby stated. She waited, looking at him – just looking, not speaking or expecting or smiling or anything, just looking. He sighed after a moment.

"What is it, Abs?" He pulled his desk drawer open, assuming that she was about to ask for some of his secret chocolates or a stick of gum.

"Smile?"

Tony blinked, hand stuck halfway back into his desk, and looked up at her. "What?"

"Smile, Tony. It's not hard, really. It goes like this-" Abby pointed to her own face, a flat line for her mouth. When she was certain that he was watching, she put her index fingers to the corners of her lips and slowly pulled them towards the top of her head. "See? That's a smile. I can share mine if you can't do it yourself." She put her fingers in the corners of her smile and pulled it back into a flat line, then put her fingers onto Tony's face and tugged the corners of his mouth upwards.

"There we go," she said, satisfied. "It's not the dazzling DiNozzo smile we all know and miss, but it's better than what we've had." With that, Abby turned and walked towards the elevator.

Tony couldn't help but grin – actually grin – at her antics. "Abby?" he called after her. She turned, almost to the elevator. "If I smile for you, will you give me that piece of paper?"

Abby's eyes widened. "Oh!" She flew back towards him, lab coat fluttering around her, and placed the paper on his desk. "It's nothing really exciting, Tony, just the DNA results to be filed for the Matheson case."

Tony smiled anyway as he accepted the paper. "Thanks, Abby," trying to give her the most – what had she called it? – _dazzling DiNozzo smile_ that he could muster.

--

"Tell me," the man said again, "what. You. Know." Each pause was punctuated with a sharp _crack_ as he propelled a thin reed towards her back. The hits stung, but didn't really hurt her, and Ziva knew that this wasn't really an interrogation; it was more of a test. Would she break? How long would she hold up? If the truly terrible was mixed in with the simply unbearable, would it make her talk more quickly?

Ziva straightened as well as she could, stared her captor in the eye, and said nothing.

"How about this?" the man said, suddenly throwing the reed into a corner. "I will share some information with you, and you will return the favor by telling me what I want to know. Just something small. Trade for trade."

No reaction. Another tactic, another attempt to get her to talk. Ziva knew that she could not trust anything that passed from the man's lips, yet when he spoke, she could not help but gasp at the information.

"And now?" the man said, smiling smugly. "Tell me this. Your team leader, the one they call Gibbs. What does he know of your mission here?"

Still she said nothing, and the man's smile only grew. "Perhaps I will leave you with your new information for a little while," he said patronizingly. "It seems that the news of betrayal has cut you deeply. We will continue this later." The man called something over his shoulder, something in Arabic, and Ziva wasn't listening, wasn't translating, was only thinking of what the man had said. Two other men entered the room and hauled her down the hall, back into the smaller room. They threw her to the floor inside and slammed the door and lock shut.

Betrayal? Disbelief ran through her, replaced later by anger like ice water through her veins.

Betrayal.


	4. Chapter 3

Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed! I love feedback :)

* * *

Tony waited until everyone had left, much later than he usually stayed. He pecked and prodded at his keyboard, grunting as each passing coworker bade him goodnight. McGee was the only one to pause before leaving.

"Tony, are you… okay?" McGee sounded more than a little uncomfortable with his question. Tony didn't look up from his screen.

"Fine, McGee," he replied, pretending to be engrossed in paperwork. "I'm great, dandy, terrific. Paperwork just puts me in such a fantastic mood."

"I was just asking," McGee muttered as he walked towards the elevator. Tony sighed internally; getting the man to just _leave_ was difficult, but he hadn't wanted to offend him. Not this time, at least.

"McGee." The younger man stopped and turned back to the bullpen. "Sorry. It's just…" he trailed off, staring at the mound of paperwork, then at the drawer where his SIG and badge sat, unused since the altercation with Rivkin. McGee, of course, went where he was led.

"You'll be back in the field in a week or so, Tony," he said encouragingly. "It's not so bad, right? I'll help more with the paperwork tomorrow as long as we don't get a new case," he promised, stepping into the elevator. "We should have a day off or something after the whole Matheson mess anyway."

"Yeah, Probie. See you in the morning." As the doors closed and the elevator began to whir and descend. Tony sat back in his chair. He felt a little guilty for lying to McGee – well, misleading him, anyway – but he was going to catch enough hell for what he was planning to do. No need to drag anyone else down with him.

Tony headed to the stairs, glancing around to ensure that nobody else remained in the large room. He'd seen Cynthia head out almost half an hour ago and Vance had left not long after. Tony paused in front of the door – _am I really going to do this?_ – before putting his eye to the retinal scanner and entering the room.

--

"Director David?"

Eli David looked up from his desk, a file in his hands. "Shiri."

His secretary looked uncomfortable. "Sir, there is a call for you…"

Eli waved his hand, slightly annoyed. "Patch it through, Shiri." _Can the girl not figure this out by herself?_ he thought.

"No, sir, it's a teleconference call." At the Director's blank look, she explained, "The Americans? NCIS."

Eli rose from his seat, internally confused but outwardly calm. "And they asked for me."

"Oh, yes, sir," Shiri replied, leading him through the twisting hallways though he knew his own way. "The agent on the line was very adamant. He wanted to speak to you and only to you."

_That sounds like Agent Gibbs,_ Eli thought.

The door swung open, and Eli instead found himself face-to-face with the man he had interrogated a month earlier. "Agent DiNozzo. Could this not have waited? Until, perhaps, you had scheduled an authorized conference?"

Thousands of miles away, Tony shifted uncomfortably, hoping that his nerves didn't translate across the screen. "Director David."

Eli waited, but Tony said nothing else. "You contacted me, Agent DiNozzo. And," he glanced at a clock hanging over the screen, "it is quite late in Washington. What was so important that it required you to call me?"

Tony blinked, realizing for the first time that if it was eleven in Washington, that made it… "You start at 0500 anyway," he finally responded. "You've been there for an hour. I knew you'd be there." Eli simply waited, and Tony took a deep breath. "Where is she?"

It was Eli's turn to blink. Once, twice, three times. "I beg your pardon, Agent DiNozzo, but that is nothing that you need to know."

"The hell it isn't," Tony growled before he could stop himself.

Eli's face grew cold. "Agent DiNozzo. Is this an official inquiry or a personal question?"

Tony said nothing.

Eli pressed on. "Who authorized you to make this call, Agent DiNozzo?"

"I did," Gibbs' voice came from behind Tony. He came to stand behind his senior field agent, looking into the screen. "We'd both like to know, Director David. Where is Ziva?"

Tony tried not to sigh his relief. Of course Gibbs would know what he was up to, although how he'd gotten into MTAC without disturbing Tony was a mystery to the younger man. "Look, Director, I'm not asking you for exact coordinates," he said. "It's just – nobody here has heard from her since she – it's not like her," Tony finished.

Eli stared steadily into the camera. "She is on an undercover mission," he said simply. "She is not to make contact with anyone. She is being monitored by a terrorist cell, and if she tries to-"

"Terrorists," Tony said flatly. "Great. Terrorists."

Gibbs didn't cuff his head, but Tony felt the warning in the air. "And the last time you heard from her, Director David?"

Eli glanced away from the camera for the first time, for just an instant, before resuming his gaze into the camera. In that instant, he seemed to have aged years. No longer the stalwart Director of Mossad, Gibbs realized, but a father worried for his daughter.

"She is inside the organization," Eli said quietly.

The moments stretched out before them. "Inside how?" Tony asked slowly. "Like, she used her super ninja skills and infiltrated the camp?" The hope in his voice was hard to hear, and his face fell further – _how could he look _more_ dejected?_ Gibbs wondered – when Eli shook his head.

"We fear her compromised," Eli said.

"Compromised," Tony said, unable to stop himself. "Captured, you mean. By the terrorists."

Eli was once again the Director. "Agent DiNozzo, we have an extraction team tracking her last known whereabouts, and we will find her. Make no mistake, we will find her."

Gibbs' hand on his shoulder stopped Tony from saying anything more. He distantly heard Gibbs and Director David talking for a few minutes, but took in nothing. Ziva. Captured by terrorists. Probably being tortured, nobody there with her, and them hurting her, and all of it his fault – _why didn't I just apologize to her, _make_ her come back?_ – and now, now-

-now Gibbs was shaking his shoulder, pulling him towards the seats, forcing him to sit. He looked up, eyes haunted. "Terrorists," he said dully.

"Looks like it," Gibbs confirmed. Then, "Take the morning off. Here and packed at 1600, DiNozzo."

Tony was startled from his reverie. "Where we going, boss?"

Gibbs looked down at him. "To find her."

* * *

I'm going to do my absolute best to post at least one chapter a week until this in finished. I don't know how long it's going to be when it's done; I have a plan, but sometimes plans change or they're extended or whatnot. I'm in grad school, so when classes start up in a month or so, things may get a little... slow. We shall see :)


	5. Chapter 4

Ziva lay where they had thrown her.

The pain was intense, yes, but that was to be expected. She had already done the best self-check that she was able to do without moving around too much, and found no new injuries but the sores on her back. The real damage done in that session had been emotional.

Ziva tried to organize her thoughts. Could it possibly be true, what the man had said? She had idly wondered if betrayal had led to her being captured by the cell, but had never given it serious consideration. Her mind flashed back to Gibbs, before all of this, when they had still been in Tel Aviv.

"_I was betrayed by Mossad, by my father, by Tony. Who's next? You?"_

Of course, she hadn't meant it, had merely meant to throw a barb at Gibbs, to hurt him in some way. He was not responsible for anything that had happened to her, but as they said, misery loved to have company. Or something like that.

Now, though, she concentrated on everything that had happened in Tel Aviv. Were there any indications while she had been there that something like this would have been coming? Had she said something, done something out of the ordinary that would turn a person against her so thoroughly that they would tell the cell when and where she would be?

Of course. Of course there was. There was always something that she said to someone that could push them over the edge. It was part of what made her good at her job, her ability to do what she needed to do without worrying about the potential ramifications, but it left her with no shortage of enemies. People she'd walked upon to get to where she was.

Which was, currently, a dirty cell in a Godforsaken country with no backup and nobody knowing exactly where she was.

_So you know._

Ziva turned her head too quickly, surprised, and closed her eyes tightly as the world spun. She opened them again after a moment. "Gibbs. I thought Tony was my delusion."

Gibbs snorted. _You can hallucinate anyone, anything you want, Ziva. It's not limited to DiNozzo._

Ziva considered the words. "I suppose you are correct."

_Of course I am._ He sounded amused in her head, but it faded into barely-concealed anger as he spoke again. _You know who it is that landed you in here._

"Of course I do," she muttered, finally dragging herself into a sitting position. She winced; the wounds on her back had not yet closed. She feared that they would get infected in this hellhole. "Knowing does not help anything, though, as I am stuck in here and you are stuck in my head."

_There is that,_ Gibbs considered. _When we get you out of here, you make sure to tell me who it is, though. I'll take him down._

Ziva laughed darkly. "No. I will take care of it."

--

"No."

"I'm not asking, Leon," Gibbs said, sitting remarkably placidly in a chair across from Vance's desk. "I'm telling you. DiNozzo and I are on a plane this afternoon, and we'll be back when we find her."

"I'm not signing off on vacation time for this, Gibbs," Vance said flatly. "I've already told you that she's no longer your problem and that I would ask Director David about her, yet you chose instead to go above my head and call him yourself after hours."

Gibbs didn't correct him. "I wanted answers, Leon. I get the best answers when I ask my own questions."

Vance looked annoyed. "It's not your job to-"

"No, it's not," Gibbs interrupted, leaning his hands on Vance's desk, getting annoyed. "It's your job to talk and do the wheeling and dealing, and when I asked you for information and you didn't have it, I expected you to get it. Yet you left last night without so much as a word to me about the situation, and when I talked to Mossad last night, David had clearly not talked to you." Gibbs took a breath, trying to calm himself down. "It's not my job, it's yours. But if you're not going to do it, Leon, I am. I _will_ keep my people safe."

Vance sat back in his seat, emotions warring on his face. Anger, surprise, annoyance. In the end, he arranged his face into a calm mask. "Two weeks, Gibbs. I'll give you two weeks to find out what you can over there, but then I want your ass back in your chair downstairs, barking at your people and slapping DiNozzo on the head and drinking your coffee. _Here_."

"Understood, Director," Gibbs said, standing and walking out. Vance knew he'd lost in this confrontation, even though Gibbs appeared to be following his orders.

--

"I'm – you're – _what_?"

"Close your mouth, McGee," Gibbs said. He held a cup of coffee in one hand; his other hand hovered over the emergency stop switch on the elevator. "Tony and I are going... to do some things with Mossad."

"And I'm staying here." McGee resisted the urge to pout. Barely.

"Well, someone has to watch over things here," Gibbs said candidly, waiting for the information to sink in. It didn't take long.

"Watch over as in report to you while you're overseas, or-"

"Or," Gibbs confirmed. "You're in charge while I'm away. Vance is getting a team together for you now. I gave him a few suggestions, but we'll see what he comes up with for you." He looked at McGee steadily. "They'll be here in the morning, and they'll report to you."

McGee looked stunned. "Boss, I – wow." Then, "In charge. Of other people." He looked into Gibbs' eyes. "I don't know if I'm really the leader type," he confided nervously.

Gibbs grinned. "It's only a couple of weeks," he said, clapping his agent on the shoulder. "I wouldn't have left you in charge if I didn't think you could handle it, Tim."

With that, Gibbs flipped the switch and the elevator doors opened. Gibbs walked out, sipping from his coffee cup. McGee stayed in the elevator, frozen in place, as the doors slid closed again.

--

"Really?" Abby squealed. She threw her arms around McGee's neck. "Timmy, that's amazing! You're in charge for two whole weeks! You'll have a team!" She paused and stepped back. "And please don't take this the wrong, way, but it's temporary and Gibbs will be back at the end of it and I'm very, very happy about that."

"Oh, trust me," McGee muttered. "I'm very, very happy about that too."

"But you'll be like… Mini-Gibbs!" Abby's enthusiasm returned in full force. "Oh, Timmy, can I call you that? Just while Gibbs isn't here and you're in charge?"

"I'd really rather you didn't, Abby," McGee said firmly. "I'm going to be nervous enough already. I already _am_ nervous. The constant reminder that I'm not Gibbs and that you're comparing me to him in your head…" He cringed and didn't finish.

Abby hugged him again. "Tim, as long as you remember to bring me a Caf-Pow when you visit me, it won't matter that you're not Gibbs."

--

Tony was in the squadroom when McGee returned. "Hey," he said to Tony. "I thought you weren't supposed to be here until 1600?"

"Trust me, Probie," Tony said, staring fixedly at his screen as he typed, "finishing this paperwork is much better for my emotional state right now than sitting at home by myself." He pounded viciously at the keyboard, and McGee winced internally as he thought of the delicate components being crushed inside.

"Well, the Matheson case is almost finished," McGee said. "Should be done by the time you guys have to go."

Tony stood suddenly, and McGee noticed that his cast and sling were gone. Tony was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that covered his entire arm. "Hey, you got your cast off!"

Tony flexed his fingers unconsciously. "Yeah. Trekking around the desert with only one arm was not high on my list of 'Things to do to not die.'" He looked at McGee. "You're not coming." It wasn't phrased as a question, but McGee heard the undertones.

"Um, well, no," McGee said, recalling the task that had been set before him and slumping a bit from the imagined weight. "I'm staying here. Gibbs put me in charge while you guys are gone."

Tony just stared at him a moment before cracking a smile. "Well, look at that," he said, and for a moment he sounded like Tony again, the Tony who didn't feel responsible for Ziva being stuck in the Middle East somewhere. "Our little Probie's all grown up and being put in charge of other people."

"Yeah," McGee responded gloomily. "You're more excited for this than I am, Tony. What happens when I screw up?"

Tony looked at him for a few seconds, then jerked his head towards the elevator. McGee followed him in and was unsurprised when, for the second time in just a few hours, the elevator ground to a halt somewhere between floors.

Tony didn't look at him, and seemed to be collecting his thoughts. "Look. When Gibbs left that time, and he put me in charge, the only thing I got is him saying 'You'll do.' Not exactly the encouraging words I'd hoped for." He snorted at the memory. He looked McGee straight in the eyes. "You'll do fine, McGee. Gibbs wouldn't have left you in charge here if he didn't think you could do it, y'know?"

McGee blinked in shock. Gibbs had said the same thing. It meant something different coming from Tony, though; maybe not in a better way, but in a the-same-but-a-little-different way. Though Gibbs rarely gave him a thumbs-up on his work, Tony _never_ complimented him.

Tony kept talking, looking away from McGee again. "You're good at what you do, Tim. You do the field stuff well; you've got good instincts and all that jazz. And you do that computer stuff that's over everyone else's head. And yes," he said, looking at McGee again, a wry smile on his lips, "you're gonna screw up. I did. Gibbs does. Nobody's perfect. You just… deal with it. And you move on."

They stood in silence for a little while before Tony started talking again. His eyes were downcast now, his voice quieter. "Do you know why we're leaving?"

McGee thought about what Gibbs had told him that morning. "You're helping Mossad with something. I assumed it had something to do with whatever Ziva's doing over there now."

Tony snorted. "Well, that's sure the Cliff Notes version." He took a deep breath, slowly raising his eyes to meet McGee's. "She's been captured by a terrorist cell," he said, slowly and quietly.

McGee was stunned into silence for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "Ziva has? By terrorists?" he babbled. "Are they – is she-"

"Whatever you're thinking, probably yes," Tony said unemotionally. He now stared stoically straight ahead. "We're going to join some Mossad agents who're looking for her."

McGee looked at Tony. "This isn't your fault." No response. "Tony, this is _not_ your fault."

Tony still stared. "Sure, Probie. Not my fault." With that, he reached out and flipped the switch. For the second time that day, McGee stayed in the elevator, processing what he'd just learned, as the elevator doors dinged closed.


	6. Chapter 5

The Jeep bounced along the road in a way that would be comical, if the vehicle's occupants had not been armed and angry-looking.

Hadar and Miri sat in the back seat as their driver, Eran, sped across the rough terrain. They spoke in low tones; it was unlikely that Eran could hear them over the crunch of the gravel anyway, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"We have good intelligence that she was last seen here," Miri said, pointing to a small dot in Morocco on the map she was holding on her lap. "Agadir. She was not supposed to leave the ship until this port." Her finger trailed down the coast of the continent, landing in Senegal.

"Dakar," Hadar supplied. "The largest city in Senegal. It would be simple for her to blend in there with all of the people."

Miri pursed her lips. "Why would she instead choose to debark in Morocco?" She squinted at the map, as if the answers were printed there, too small for her to see.

"I do not know," Hadar said. "But we will be in Morocco shortly. Our search can begin there."

--

Tony stood in line with his carry-on bag, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The line hadn't seemed that long when they'd joined it half an hour ago, but the man at the head of the line was arguing about something, and the security guard seemed unimpressed. The man, however, kept talking, waving his arms around for some sort of emphasis.

"Why can we not just show our badges and go through all this mess?" Tony asked, turning to Gibbs, who stood behind him.

"Just wait your turn, DiNozzo," he said, sipping from the ever-present coffee. Was the paper cup glued to his hand?

"This is unnecessary," Tony grumbled. He glanced towards the front of the line again just in time to see the angry customer reach inside his jacket. The security guard's eyes widened.

"Boss," Tony urged, nudging Gibbs.

"Go left," Gibbs said, the coffee gone. _Not glued there_, Tony thought inappropriately,.

Tony did as he was told, dropping his bag and drawing his weapon. Gibbs went to the right, and they crept up the line to where the man was now waving his weapon wildly around. The people at the front of the line were standing frozen, eyes glued to the small metal knife. Even the security guard seemed unable to move.

"Federal agents," Tony announced as Gibbs leveled his gun at the man, who turned to them, surprised.

"What?" he asked, confused. Then he saw their guns. He dropped his knife in terror. "Oh God, don't shoot me, please don't shoot me!" he yelled, putting his arms defensively in front of his face.

Tony looked at Gibbs as he reached for his handcuffs. "You want to call Metro or should I?" he questioned. Gibbs already had his cell phone out and was talking into the mouthpiece.

"It's your lucky day," Tony said conversationally as he pulled the man towards a holding area. "Airline food is deadly stuff."

Metro was there not five minutes later to take the man into custody. Gibbs and Tony walked back and calmly retrieved their bags before walking to the front of the line. The security guard waved them through, looking sheepish.

"I don't know why I didn't take that guy out myself," he said as they walked past him. "I really hope I don't get put under review for that. It was really-"

"James," Tony said, reading the man's name from the tag on his shirt, "just go ahead and scan those passports, okay?"

The guard nodded and went back to his job.

--

The man was back, and this time he hadn't bothered to bring her to the room with the window. He had instead brought a knife and a small electronic device, both of which he set on the floor out of her grasp before he bent to where she sat.

"We are going to create a message," the man said, reaching for the electronic box. "This is a voice recorder. We are going to send a nice little surprise to your superiors at Mossad." He smiled hideously. "And at NCIS. We shall see if anyone is interested in getting you back."

Ziva tried to glare at the man, decided it would be better to save her energy, and instead sat silently.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I thought that you might be… uncooperative. That is why we have this." He now reached for the knife, cradling it almost lovingly. Ziva eyed it warily; like the reed whip from their last session, this was invented to cause pain without devastating injury. Yes, she would hurt and she would bleed, and in the long run it would not be good for her, but the knife wasn't large enough or heavy-duty enough to do any maiming.

The man held the recorder close to her. "Shall we begin?"

--

"Let's go out, Tim," Abby said, sitting in Gibbs' chair, which she had pulled from his desk to sit directly in front of McGee's. "We can celebrate your temporary promotion."

McGee stared at his computer screen. The day had been a blur since he'd spoken to Tony. All he could think of was Ziva being tortured. It was in times like these that he hated his overactive writer's imagination.

"I'm not really in the mood, Abby," McGee responded finally. "I just… want to go home."

Abby pouted for only a second before brightening up again. "I'll come over. We can have pizza and drinks and just watch a movie or something."

McGee began to protest as he gathered his things to leave, but changed his mind. "Yeah," he agreed, figuring that the company couldn't hurt. "That sounds cool."

Abby bubbled at him throughout the elevator ride and as they walked to their cars. She climbed into her hearse after promising to be at his apartment after picking up the evening's refreshments.

McGee climbed into his car and drove home, trying to think of nothing but pizza and Abby and a movie. She didn't know what was going on with Ziva. Should he tell her?

McGee knew that either choice had severe ramifications. Telling her would upset her beyond words, and he wasn't sure if he could handle that at the moment, when he wasn't at his sharpest, either. He also wasn't certain that this was something he was supposed to talk about, per se. He sure wouldn't be spreading it around the office, but he thought that Abby, at least, had the right to know.

On the other hand, if he decided not to tell her, Abby would still find out eventually. And she'd definitely kill him for keeping it from her.

_Decisions_, McGee thought as he parked his car. _Why are there always decisions?_

_

* * *

_Wow, over 1500 views... it really amazes me that so many people read this story! If you like it, please leave me a review... even three little words makes my day :)_  
_


	7. Chapter 6

The flight would, hopefully, be uneventful, and Tony and Gibbs had had enough excitement trying to board. Tony was looking forward to sleeping during the flight. It was a long trip from DC to Marrakech, and they had some sort of layover in... Tony pulled out his flight itinerary, which Cynthia had helpfully highlighted for him. Portugal. They had a layover in Portugal.

Gibbs was shuffling through some papers when Tony sat and buckled himself in. He turned to his boss, but his words died on his lips when the older man spoke first.

"You need to prepare yourself,' Gibbs said. "This isn't going to be easy."

Tony frowned. "I didn't think it would be, boss. I'm assuming we're going to have to take the cell out to get to her, and-"

"Not what I meant," Gibbs interrupted. "Vance signed off on two weeks for each of us. At the end of those two weeks, we're headed back to DC, DiNozzo. Whether we have her or not."

Tony's mouth opened, but no sound came out, so he shut it. He tried again. "If we don't find her in two weeks, we just have to give up?"

Gibbs shook his head. "If we don't find her in two weeks, we hand the investigation over to Mossad, who will find _their_ agent and get her out."

Tony didn't miss the emphasis. "That's really not a lot of time, boss."

"I know, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, sitting back in his seat. "We have some good intel, though. We have a starting place, and I have a few contacts in Morocco that can probably give us some pointers."

Tony had no response to that. Contacts or not, two weeks was not enough time to search an entire continent for one missing woman. He sighed as Gibbs closed his eyes. Sleep would not come easily after this new information, if it came at all.

--

McGee hadn't been home for ten minutes before Abby knocked on his door. "Open," he called, walking into the living room and setting plates and cups on the coffee table. The door didn't open, so he headed towards the entrance, pulling the door open.

Abby stood before him, arms entirely full of food, drinks, candy, potato chips… "Did you just take everything you could carry from the store?" McGee wondered as he took some of the things from her. Then, "How did you knock on the door?"

"I kicked it," Abby replied, demonstrating the move on his kitchen cabinets. "Knocking boots, McGee, get it?"

McGee just rolled his eyes. "Cute, Abs."

"So," she said, reaching for the pizza box, "what are we watching?"

McGee took a deep breath. "Um, do you think we could talk before we put the movie on?"

--

Ziva was once again alone with her thoughts. Her captor had just left, and she was desperately trying to organize the new information she had gathered during the recording session.

The man's name was Khalil. He had taunted that it had been an inside job, that her position had been leaked, on the tape, but when Ziva had tried to say the name, Khalil had put his knife to her throat. She stayed silent after that, speaking only when told to do so.

Khalil had not claimed to be part of any specific group, but then, he had not claimed to not be part of a group, so…

_So that's not really something we can go on here, Ziva._

"I know that, McGee," Ziva muttered. "That is all I know."

_Just… remember it, okay? When we get you out of there, we're gonna want to know that._

"I know." Being awake took a lot of energy. Ziva decided that she was not concussed enough to risk slipping into a coma, so she let her weary eyelids slide closed.

--

The movie played in the background, but neither Abby nor McGee was paying attention. Neither actually knew what movie was showing.

Abby had gone through all of the stages of grief, and she'd done it rather quickly. Her denial had been swift, her anger fierce, and her acceptance marked by only a few tears. Now she laid on the couch, her head in McGee's lap as he absently stroked her shoulder. Comfort for comfort.

"They'll find her," Abby said again, hollowly. "They have to."

"I just hope they find her before-" McGee stopped. Abby didn't need to hear the depths of what he'd imagined. She was in a bad enough place already.

"They'll bring her back here, and we'll have our team back," Abby said resolutely. McGee said nothing to contradict her this time. He wanted too badly to believe it himself.

He decided to change the topic. "So, who do you think will be on my temporary team?" he asked her, and her face lost a bit of its sadness as she smiled a little.

"I bet you'll have a bunch of probies," she teased. "You'll have to train them all up before Gibbs gets back."

McGee looked horrified at the thought. "God, Abby, that's awful. I hope that's not true." He began to feel a little queasy, his imagination running amok with the realization of what havoc three new agents could wreak on a crime scene.

"I'm sure they won't, Tim," Abby yawned. "They'll probably just transfer some senior agents in, people with experience. It won't be a problem."

"That's not good, either," McGee said, starting to panic. "There's no way a bunch of really seasoned agents are going to listen to me. I don't have a lot of experience."

Abby sat up. "Tim."

He looked at her, the panic clearly showing in his eyes. "Breathe, Tim," Abby coaxed. "Everything is going to be fine. Gibbs wouldn't have left you in-"

"Yeah, I know," McGee cut her off tiredly. "Everyone's been saying that. I feel like I'm gonna mess everything up, though, and then when Gibbs gets back he's gonna be really angry with me and he might fire me and-"

"Breathe," Abby reminded him. "You won't mess things up, Tim. I have faith in you." She laid her head back in his lap. "I'll help you," she promised, yawning again. "Whatever happens, I'll help you."

"Okay," McGee agreed. "I'll hold you to that."

The movie continued to play in the background, but Abby and McGee were asleep on the couch and took no notice.


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who's reading this, and a special thanks to those of you who have left me reviews :) I so appreciate all the feedback I'm getting!

(Shameless self-promotion time!) If you're in the mood for a sad one-shot, I recently posted a story called _Survivor_, which I wrote for a challenge at NFA. I'd love feedback on that as well!

* * *

Gibbs felt something poke into his side. His eyes flew open and he saw his senior field agent standing next to him. "What?"

"We're debarking, boss," Tony said. He looked exhausted. "The car's supposed to meet us outside and bring us to the hotel."

Gibbs stood and followed Tony off the plane. They claimed their baggage and stepped out of the airport into a blistering heat.

"NCIS," a man said from Tony's left. The two agents turned, and a small man with short, curly hair hopped down from a railing. He held his hand out to Tony. "Eran Degev." Tony shook the proffered hand automatically.

Gibbs shook the man's hand as well. "Special Agent Gibbs. This is DiNozzo."

"Yes," the man said simply. "Welcome to Marrakech."

The two followed Eran to the dusty Jeep. "Where we headed?" Gibbs asked as they climbed into the vehicle.

"There is a hotel nearby," Eran replied. "You will be staying there for the night. We leave in the morning for Agadir, where Officers Hadar and Gonen will brief you on the situation." Eran drove as he spoke. Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Tony's voice came from the back of the jeep.

"How long is the drive?"

Eran considered the question. "It will take a few hours to get there. Agadir is about three hundred kilometers from here."

"Go now," Tony said. Eran glanced in his rear view mirror at the younger agent, frowning.

"Go now," Tony repeated. "The sooner we get to the other Mossad people, the sooner we can get looking."

"Can we just drive there now?" Gibbs asked Eran. "I mean, is it possible to drive there at night?"

Eran shook his head. "We would only be able to drive part of the way. The roads are not safe at night."

"We can protect ourselves," Tony said stubbornly, but Gibbs was shaking his head.

"Can't help if we're dead, DiNozzo," he said, settling the discussion. Tony sunk back into his seat.

Eran looked in the rear view mirror again. "There is another option," he said hesitantly. "We are supposed to drive to Chichaoua and go south, but if we drive to the coast and turn there…"

"We can do that now?" Tony came back to himself in the back seat, leaning forward towards Eran. "You can drive that at night?"

Eran looked at Gibbs as he spoke. "It is a safer route. It is longer, but safer at night. If we leave right from here, we can be in Agadir by 0300."

"Do it," Gibbs said. Eran nodded, turned around in the middle of the road, and headed for the highway.

--

"They are on their way." Miri tossed her cell phone onto the bed in their hotel room. "Eran estimates that they will be here by 0300."

"0300," Hadar muttered. "They could not just sleep and drive here in the morning?"

Miri's eyes flashed. "They are very interested in finding Ziva, Amit. Why do you not seem to be very enthusiastic about this search?"

Hadar sighed heavily. "I was looking forward to a good night's sleep before dealing with the Americans," he said after a moment. "You forget, Miri. I have met these two before. They can be… tiring."

Miri set her jaw stubbornly, and Hadar was reminded of his own daughter's childish face. "If they are looking for Ziva, then I will work with them," she said. Then, "One of them is the one who killed Michael."

"Yes," Hadar said. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. As children, the three had been inseparable, along with Hadar's daughter Eli. But then Eli had died, been killed in a bombing, and the group of four carefree children became a tight knot of three haunted survivors, then determined Mossad officers. Now there were two. _Perhaps only one,_ Hadar thought.

Hadar opened his eyes. Miri was studying her hands. "I would very much like to talk to him," she said quietly.

"Miri," Hadar said, "the Director has already spoken to Agent DiNozzo and found that he killed in self-defense. Michael attacked him."

"Even so," Miri said, and left it at that.

--

Khalil had been whistling when he entered the room last, and for some reason, that had angered Ziva more than any of the beatings she'd endured since her capture.

He hadn't really done anything. He had walked around where she sat on the floor, kicking at her legs, but hadn't asked her any new questions, hadn't spoken at all but for the whistling. Ziva knew psychological torture when she saw it, and concentrated instead on her increasingly common internal dialogues.

_The whistling bothers you so because it seems out of place in this setting_, Ducky said. In her head, Ziva nodded, but gave no outward sign.

"Yes, Ducky," she said internally. "I realized that a while ago."

_I can only tell you what you already know,_ he reminded her regretfully.

"Tell me this. Was he telling the truth about… about who gave up my position?"

Ducky's voice hesitated. _Even if I were truly with you, my dear, you wouldn't need my opinion on that subject. You have always been the expert in that field._

Ziva knew. Khalil had had no signs of deceit about him when he had named the one to betray her. The mockery and pride in his voice was too authentic, too pleased, to have been untrue.

Knowing that only made it hurt a little more, made her a little more angry.

Ziva grunted as Khalil delivered a particularly hard kick to her ribs. "You are not paying attention to me," he said, mock-pouting. "Perhaps I will come back later, then." He delivered another kick, lighter this time, to her shoulder, then walked casually to the door.

"Oh," he said, as if it were an afterthought. "We've brought you something." The two guards who took turns at her cell door walked in, carrying something between them, and dropped the bundle unceremoniously on the floor. A cry of pain came from inside. "Enjoy your company," Khalil said and the men left.

Ziva pulled herself over to the pile of rags and reached into them. She moved them aside, revealing a child of no more than ten years old, completely naked and crying.

* * *

We meet McGee's team in the next chapter, which should be posted soon!


	9. Chapter 8

"Everything will be fine," Abby promised as the she and McGee entered the Navy Yard the next morning. "Your team will be amazing, and they're gonna love you to pieces, and you're gonna solve every single case that comes your way. And I'm gonna help you, I promise, only you have to promise that when Gibbs comes back you won't like his job too much, because I really think that he might leave again if-"

"I promise," McGee interrupted. He really didn't need Abby to get on one of her tangents this morning. He had enough on his plate.

The elevator dinged and Abby stepped out, stopped, then stepped back in and threw her arms around McGee. "Come down as soon as you can," she said. "It's going to be a great two weeks, Timmy." She backed out of the elevator as the doors were closing.

McGee swallowed hard and pressed the button for his floor.

_Who are they going to give me?_ he wondered. _People I know? The people Gibbs suggested? A whole bunch of probies like Abby said? What if they all hate me?_

McGee's nervousness reached astronomical heights as he heard the elevator ding and stepped out into the bullpen. He walked slowly to his desk, scanning the room for unfamiliar faces.

There was nobody here. Why was he the only one here?

Panicked, McGee glanced at his watch and remembered. He'd come in early today to prepare himself. The new team wouldn't be here until 0700. It was 0630. He had some time to calm down.

On second thought, maybe this was a terrible idea, he reflected five minutes later. Everything was already neat, straightened, ready for the new people. There was nothing for him to do but think. McGee put his head in his hands, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Agent McGee?" a female voice said. McGee looked up. Why was Nikki Jardine here so early?

"Nikki," he said slowly. "What can I do for you?"

"More like what I can do for you," she answered, holding a gloved hand out to him. "I'm part of your team for the next few weeks, Agent McGee."

"Tim, call me Tim," he said, shaking the proffered hand. He pointed to Tony's desk. "You sit there, okay?"

Nikki stood hesitantly in the center of the room. "Um, Agent McGee, if you wouldn't mind, could I sit at Officer David's desk?"

"Tim," he emphasized. "Um, why?"

Nikki glanced at Tony's desk. "Well, Agent DiNozzo's really good at what he does, and I think he's a nice enough guy, but…" She looked longingly at Ziva's desk. "Officer David's area seems much… cleaner."

It was only then that McGee noticed what she was carrying: disinfectant and towels, along with some personal effects. He understood.

"Oh, sure," he said after processing the information. "Just, you know, do what you need to do. Sure." He waved Nikki to her temporary desk and sat back at his own. He opened his email program, began a new message to Abby, and typed only one word before he sent it out.

_JARDINE._

Abby's reply was quick and succinct: _At least you know her._

McGee considered this. It was true, after all, and from what he'd heard from Tony, she'd done a good job when they had gone overseas. She'd probably be fine.

"Um, Agent McGee, sir?" McGee looked up and saw a nervous-looking young man. He was tall and almost comically thin, with a shock of red hair and big green eyes. "Um, I was told to report here this morning, and I'm looking for a Special Agent Timothy McGee, and I figured it wasn't the lady."

McGee stood and held his hand out to the man. "Yeah, I'm McGee. And you are…"

"Oh!" The young man looked flustered, then apologetic. "Um, my name's Samuels. Pete Samuels. I just finished my training last week, and they said I'd be here for a little while, and I'd probably be transferred somewhere else, but they said that you were a good person to start out with because you wouldn't yell too much, well, probably." Samuels took a deep breath. "They said I'll probably end up with a guy named Gibbs, and that he's pretty tough, but that I'd start out with you, and that you'd help me get ready."

McGee blinked. The young man spoke quickly, nervously, and was still pumping his hand up and down emphatically. McGee looked at the hand in question, and Samuels flushed and released it.

"Sorry!" he squeaked and stood awkwardly, hands fidgeting at his sides.

McGee took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. I'm Tim. You can sit there," he pointed again at Tony's desk. "And just… familiarize yourself with the system. Do you have a login?"

Samuels shook his head. McGee went to his own terminal, tapped in a few commands, then returned to the other desk. He walked the young agent through logging into the system and was just starting to show him around their virtual world when he heard a familiar voice coming from the open elevator.

"Hey, Agent McGee!" McGee turned and saw Dwayne Wilson walking towards him. The young man looked confident, showing a SIG at his side and a badge pinned near it.

"Dwayne," McGee said with some relief. "Hey, you here to work with me?"

Dwayne grinned. "Sure am," he said. "Where do I sit?"

"Gibbs' desk," McGee responded. Dwayne's smile widened.

"I get to play boss?" he joked. "Nice welcome to the force, if you ask me."

McGee stood in the middle of the room, surveying the three desks. Nikki. Dwayne. Pete.

This could work, he decided. This could definitely work.

"Okay," he began, "well, you've all met me. I'll do names, but you guys are on your own for the rest of the intro stuff. Nikki Jardine, Dwayne Wilson, Pete Samuels," he said, pointing to each in turn. "And I'm Tim McGee. The others usually call me McGee. That's fine, or you can call me Tim. Please, please, don't call me boss." McGee paused. " Special Agent McGee is a little excessive too."

McGee sat back at his desk and watched as his new team conversed, sharing small personal details (Dwayne's wife's name is Claire, Samuels has a cat named Pearface, Jardine never leaves the house without Wet Naps) and settling in. He opened a new email to Abby.

_Dwayne Wilson and a probie._

Abby's reply was longer this time. _Tell Dwayne I say hi and that he should come visit me! How's the probie? Is it a he-probie or a she-probie? How are things going up there? Are you still nervous? You shouldn't be nervous. You're going to do great! Come visit me soon!_

McGee smiled and shook his head. Yeah, this would work out fine.

* * *

Wow. I want to sincerely thank everyone who's reading this - I looked at my stats the other day, and this story has nearly four thousand hits! That's a truly incredible feeling. Thanks for reading and please keep reviewing (and a special thanks to those of you who have reviewed!).


	10. Chapter 9

Ziva couldn't speak to the little girl.

"What is your name?" she had tried in every language she spoke. The little girl sat, shivering, with the rags wrapped around her body. She alternated between crying and staring vacantly at the wall. Ziva gave up after an hour or so and moved back to rest against the wall.

They sat in total silence, but for the girl's occasional sobs, for what seemed to be days, but was probably only a few hours. Ziva looked at her every so often; the girl didn't seem to notice. She had dark skin. Middle Eastern, probably, but then why would she have been brought here to be tortured? Most from that area were Muslim, and though there were differences between the Sunni and Shi'ite camps, relations weren't bad enough to warrant torturing a child. Or they hadn't been when Ziva had been captured. Also, she would probably speak Arabic if that were the case, and she hadn't responded when Ziva had tried the language.

Dark eyes. Very thin for her height. Ziva sighed, frustrated at the lack of clothing. Not only was the girl probably cold, but Ziva might have been able to tell something of where she was from based on her attire.

A noise from the girl's direction brought Ziva from her thoughts. The girl was slowly rising to her feet, clutching the rags around her body in a vain attempt at preserving her modesty. The girl wobbled on her feet, steadied herself, and walked towards Ziva, stopping a few feet from her.

"They hurt me," she said in Arabic. "They hurt me."

"I know," Ziva murmured. Arabic. Why had she not responded hours before?

"I am scared," the girl said, and her voice shook. "But if you were going to hurt me, too, you would have done it already. And…" she hesitated, her hand reaching towards Ziva's face, tracing her bruises through the air that stood between them. "They hurt you, too."

"Yes," Ziva said. Short answers were probably the best for now. There was no need to scare the child away with questions now that she'd finally begun to speak. "I am Ziva."

"I am Saima," the girl said. Ziva blinked; the name was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She dismissed the feeling. There were plenty of names in the world.

"Where are you from, Saima?" Ziva asked, trying to keep the tone light, as if she were meeting the girl in a marketplace.

Saima traced patterns in the dirt with her finger. "Rafah," she whispered. Palestine. Ziva immediately decided not to reveal that she was Mossad. The girl would immediately view her as the enemy if she knew.

"It is very beautiful in Rafah," Ziva commented, and Saima looked up at her, dark eyes wide with surprise.

"You know Rafah?" she breathed, leaned forward towards Ziva. Ziva smiled at the girl.

"I know Rafah," she replied. "I am not from there, but I have visited many times." _On Mossad matters,_ her mind added silently.

"Rafah is the most beautiful city in the world," Saima said, with all the confidence that a ten-year-old could muster. For a moment she seemed to forget her surroundings, looking at a dirty, drab wall but seeing somewhere much sweeter. "My home is near to the marketplace, and I meet my friend Hiri there on Saturday mornings, and we do the food shopping for our mothers together."

Ziva smiled, thinking of Miri and Eli and Michael, of days before everything had changed.

"I want to go home," Saima said suddenly, her eyes brimming with tears again. "I want to go back to my mother. She is all alone and she needs my help."

Ziva held her hands out to the girl cautiously and gasped when Saima threw herself into her arms. "I miss my home," the girl said, burying her face in Ziva's shirt and crying. Ziva's eyes widened with both pain and slight panic – _what do I do?_ – as Saima clung to her.

Some time later, the door was cracked open and their food was shoved in. Along with the food was another bundle of rags. When Ziva shook the cloth, she saw that it was clothing for the little girl.

--

"DiNozzo."

Tony shook himself awake at Gibbs' voice. "Yeah, boss."

"0230. Eran drove his ass off to get us here." Gibbs gestured to the darkness behind him. "Welcome to Agadir."

Tony climbed out of the back of the Jeep and retrieved his bags. The group trudged towards the hotel. "Nice place," was Tony's only comment as they walked straight through the lobby to the elevators at the far end.

The ride up was short, and soon Tony found himself face-to-face with Amit Hadar, the guy who had scared the living hell out of him the last time he'd been here, and who had also apparently blown up Ziva's place. He didn't like the guy.

Standing behind Hadar was a young woman, probably about Ziva's age, who was staring at him with what he could only assume was unbridled hostility. Tony took a step back, wondering what he'd done to her already. Usually it took at least a few words before women started to look at him like that.

Hadar made the introductions. "Special Agent DiNozzo, Special Agent Gibbs. This is Officer Miriyam Gonen." He sat unceremoniously in the chair by the small table in the room. "You will stay in the next room for the night. We will meet here at 0630 to begin our work."

"Thought you began at 0500," Tony muttered. Hadar directed a glare at him.

"I am old, Agent DiNozzo, and I have been made to wait up for two American agents who could not be convinced to wait a few hours to get to Agadir. Believe me when I say that the extra little bit of sleep will be beneficial for everyone involved."

Tony glared right back. "Pardon me for wanting to find my partner, Hadar."

Miri continued to silently glare at Tony. She hadn't even acknowledged Gibbs' presence.

Eran was the one who finally broke the silence. "Allow me to show you to your room," he said, taking one of the bags that the two NCIS agents had brought in. They followed the small man to the next door, where he produced a key card and let them in.

"Ah, Eran, can I ask you something?" Tony asked after they had set their bags down. Eran paused by the door. "Why does it seem like Officer Gonen hates me?"

Eran smiled, slightly sad, slightly bitter. "She does hate you, Agent DiNozzo. As for why, I am certain that she will tell you on her own. Actually, she will probably-" He was cut off by a single sharp rap on the door. Eran pulled it open and revealed the woman in question. The two had a brief conversation in Hebrew before Eran turned back to the two in the room. "Goodnight. I will see you in the morning."

Tony looked at the woman in the doorway and felt, irrationally, that he should run and hide behind Gibbs. "Something we can do for you, Officer?"

"I would like to speak to you, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes flicked to Gibbs, who shrugged. "I'm going to bed, DiNozzo. I'm also waking you at 0530. I'd make it quick if I were you."

Tony followed the woman into the hallway. She led him to yet another room, inserted a keycard, and entered, not bothering to hold the door for him. "Did you people rent the whole damn floor?" he muttered, catching the door and entering the room.

Once inside, with the door safely shut, Miri turned. "You killed Michael."

Tony blinked. "Um…"

Miri's eyes narrowed. "That was not a question, Agent DiNozzo."

"Didn't sound like one," he returned. "Yes. I killed Rivkin."

Miri flinched. "Why?"

Tony's eyes narrowed. "I've answered all the questions, Officer Gonen. Didn't you get a copy of the report?"

Miri took three quick steps, and Tony found himself pinned against the wall with a knife at his throat. "I want to hear it from your lips," she hissed. "I want to know why you killed my brother."

Tony's eyes widened. Rivkin had siblings? Oh. Oh, this was not good.

"I, um, well, I…" Yeah. Not good.

"He was my best friend," Miri said, sheathing her knife and stepping back. It looked like she was trying to collect herself. "We were very close. Why did you do it?"

Oh. Not actual related-siblings. Friend-siblings. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? "I didn't really have a choice," he began, but Miri shook her head.

"I have read the report," she said, and Tony didn't know what to say. "I do not really expect you to tell me anything new, Agent DiNozzo." Her shoulders drooped slightly. "I suppose that I wanted you to say something else, to do something, that would make it all seem… to make it make sense," she finished, and the look that she gave him reminded Tony of Ziva.

"God, you look like her," he said before he could stop himself. Then, "Sorry."

"She is my best friend, as well," Miri said. "We are… very close. She is your partner, you said before, yes?"

Tony nodded. "For a few years now."

"She has been my partner, in many respects, since we were twelve years old," Miri said. "As much as you want to find her, Agent DiNozzo, I imagine that I want to find her more."

"Call me Tony," he said, still standing near the door.

"Miri," she replied, looking him in the face. For Ziva, she told herself. For Ziva, she would work with this man, the man who had killed Michael. "We are going to find her." The conviction in her voice matched that in Tony's own.

"I know."


	11. Chapter 10

The phone at his hip rang, and McGee flipped it open. "McGee."

He listened, paled, nodded and tried to take a calming breath as he hung up. McGee turned to his team.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said calmly, then walked to the elevator.

Two minutes later, he was sitting in a chair in Abby's lab, head in his hands, trying to avoid being poked in the eye by a straw that led to a Caf-Pow.

"C'mon, Timmy, take a sip. It helps, I swear."

"No, Abs," McGee said, shoving the drink away. Again. He rose to his feet and took what felt like the hundredth deep breath since he'd gotten the call. "Okay. I'm going upstairs, and I'm going to take my team and we're going to go do this."

"And?" Abby prompted.

"And we are going to kick this case's ass," he said resolutely. Abby threw her arms around him.

"Attaboy," she said, releasing him and shoving him towards the elevator. "Bring me lots of evidence!"

Two minutes later, McGee was striding confidently through the bullpen. "Gear up," he said to his team – _his team_ – and they all instantly obeyed. Jardine pulled a shining, sparkling SIG from a drawer and put it in its perfectly-aligned holster; Dwayne just stood, as he'd apparently never taken his off; Samuels reached for his gun, put a stapler in his holster, flushed, and grabbed his actual gear. They were all in the elevator a moment later, and as the doors closed, McGee thought, _here we go_.

--

Abby's phone rang, and she jumped for it. "How's it going, McGee?"

"Hey, Abs."

"Tony!" Abby jumped out of her chair and twirled in place. "Oh my gosh, Tony! How's Morocco? It looks really awesome on TV, really like _Aladdin_ and stuff, is it actually like that? Is everything red and dusty and sandy?"

"Well," Tony's voice crackled over the line. "It's red and it's dusty. We're in Agadir, though, not Agrabah."

"It sounds kinda the same," Abby said, standing still and cocking her head. Her voice turned anxious. "Did you find her yet?"

"No," Tony said. "We just met up with the Mossad team." He lowered his voice. "We're stuck with Hadar, that guy who blew up Ziva's apartment."

"Ew," Abby commented. "I don't like him."

"Neither do I," Tony said, laughing without humor. "We also have Miri. Officer Miriyam Gonen. She knows Ziva. She-" He paused. "She knew Rivkin. They were close."

"Oh no," Abby said sympathetically. "I bet that's rough, Tony, and it's not exactly an easy mission for you anyway."

"It's not bad, surprisingly," Tony replied. "We sort of came to an understanding. I think."

"That's good," Abby said slowly. "I think."

There was humor in Tony's laugh this time. "I think so too," he replied. "So, how's McGibbs doing?"

"That's a good one!" Abby's eyes lit up again. "Oh, I so have to remember it for when he gets back."

"Back from…"

"He got his first case," Abby said, the proud mama showing off her child's painting from art class. "Dead Marine at Quantico."

"Anything juicy?"

"Literally or figuratively?" Abby countered.

"Either, I guess."

"Not sure yet, honestly. I sort of thought you'd be him, calling to let me know something about the case. It's the first thing he's got going with his new team." Abby's eyes lit again. "Oh! You'll never guess who's on his team!"

"Let me try," Tony said. "Jardine."

"No fair," Abby pouted. "You cheated."

"How?" Tony sounded insulted.

"I don't know. Did you ask Gibbs?"

"I did not ask Gibbs!" Tony said indignantly. Abby heard voices in the background. "Okay, maybe I asked Gibbs."

"Who else, then?" Abby challenged.

"Um…" Tony hesitated. "Callen from Legal?"

"You have no idea," Abby said smugly. "Nope. It's Dwayne! Do you remember Dwayne?"

"The probie we had last year?" Tony sounded surprised. "Yeah. He's a good agent."

"Uh huh," Abby said. "And he got a probie. Pete Samuels."

"Probie has a probie!" Tony said gleefully. "It's like… Probie Squared. Oh, I'm gonna call him Squared, and he's gonna have no idea why." Tony chuckled.

"He's really nervous," Abby said. "Samuels, I mean. He's really, really green, and apparently he babbles a lot. McGee thinks he's gonna straighten out. Eventually."

"Hm," Tony said. "Sounds like he's got a good team."

"He does," Abby said. "I think he's gonna do a great job."

"He will," Tony said softly. Then, "Don't tell him I said that."

"Of course not," Abby laughed.

"Okay, Abs, just wanted to let you know we're landed and safely where we need to be for now," Tony said. "I'm gonna get off the phone now, though, because Gibbs is giving me this look like if I go over our calling plan he's going to shove the phone somewhere unpleasant."

Abby laughed. "Okay. I miss you guys."

"Miss you too, Abs," Tony said and clicked the phone shut.

"Bring her home," Abby said to nobody, then shut her phone as well.

--

Saima had fallen asleep after they had eaten. Ziva leaned back against the wall again, staring at the little girl. Saima. Where did she know that name?

"Think," she said softly. As if she could do anything else. Nothing came to mind.

The door was thrown open without preamble, and the two thugs walked to Ziva, who was trying to drag herself over to protect Saima. They got to her first, and dragged her back to the opposite side of the room.

Saima was awake, but not alert. "Ziva?" she asked tentatively, brushing the sleep from her eyes.

"Saima, whatever they tell you to do, do it," Ziva told the young girl. One of the men backhanded her, but she kept talking. "They will not hurt you if you cooperate with them." The larger of the two men hit her again, harder, and Ziva bit her tongue to prevent herself from crying out. There was no need to scare the girl more.

"Turn your head away," she ordered between hits. "Do not watch this, Saima."

Suddenly, the beating stopped, and Ziva looked up. Khalil had entered the room with another guard. They walked to the young girl, who cowered and pressed herself to the wall.

Khalil crouched next to her. His hand touched her face briefly, tenderly, almost as a father would touch his daughter. Then his hand flew across the child's face.

Saima cried out and Ziva struggled against the men holding her. Khalil struck Saima again, then a third time.

"What do you want?" Ziva yelled to Khalil. She understood, now, the tactic that was being employed. She had seen it used before, but it was not endorsed by Mossad, nor by any other civilized country. The torture of the innocent would stop only if the desired information was received.

Ziva was the only one who could keep them from hurting the little girl.

"NCIS," Khalil said, not turning to face hr, punctuating each letter with another strike to Saima's body. His fists were clenched tightly as he hit her, over and over. Saima had curled into a ball and was sobbing freely. "Start with Gibbs."

* * *

...there's a big part of me that absolutely hates myself for hurting Saima. :( My beta agrees; she hates me abusing the poor little one, too!


	12. Chapter 11

McGee got out of the van slowly. He'd been able to drive to a scene, for the first time in a long time. In fact, he'd been _expected_ to drive. The rest of his team had gotten out as soon as they'd reached the scene. Nikki and Dwayne had gone, with practiced movements, to the back of the truck to unpack the necessary materials. Samuels had followed after them like a lost puppy.

McGee walked to the back of the van. His hands itched to pick up a camera case, a bag of equipment, anything, but he knew that none of those things was his job now. Not at this crime scene. He walked, showing more confidence than he felt, to where the small contingent of people was standing.

"Special Agent McGee," he said. "Who's in charge here?"

"Sir." A young man in dress whites stepped to the front of the group. "Lance Corporal Harold Evans. I found him here, sir."

"Agent McGee is fine, Lance Corporal," McGee told him, turning to the body. "Who is he?"

"Evans," the man said. "This is Private Ernie Michaels."

Dwayne walked up behind the pair. "Where should we start?"

McGee turned. "You do sketches. Have Samuels take pictures, and make sure he's doing it right, Dwayne. Tell Nikki to start with evidence collection. I'll do witness statements for now." Dwayne nodded and walked back to where the rest of the team was standing.

"What can you tell me about Private Michaels, Evans?" McGee asked, turning back to the young Lance Corporal.

"Outgoing, sir, very friendly. Wouldn't think he had anyone after him. He was everybody's buddy, that type."

McGee nodded and walked towards the body, motioning for Evans to follow with him. "I'm going to need to talk to anyone who's had contact with Michaels in the past few days…"

--

"Dwayne!" Abby cheered. "Hi!"

"Hi, Abby," Dwayne grinned. He caught her in a hug as she rushed to where he was standing. "How's it been going?"

"Great!" Abby said happily. "How was the crime scene?" She lowered her voice. "McGee's super nervous, you know. He thinks he's gonna screw up."

"Everything was by the book, Abby," Dwayne confided. "It went well."

He shifted to the side, and Abby saw, for the first time, the young man standing behind him, struggling under the weight of the box he was carrying. "Oh!"

"I'm Pete Samuels," the young man said. He tried to reach out a hand to shake hers, but the box slid a little from his one-handed grasp, and he retracted the hand to regrasp the box. "Um, is there somewhere I can put this?"

Abby shooed Dwayne out of the way and pointed to a table. "There, Pete, put it there."

Samuels placed the box on the table and straightened back up.

_Tall_ was Abby's first thought, followed by, _thin_. And McGee's emailed description had been right. His red hair and huge green eyes made him kinda look like some weird sort of bug.

"I'm Abby," she said, reaching her hand out again. Samuels took it, shook it once up and down, then dropped his hands to his sides. "I do the forensics. And ballistics. And… well, most of the science stuff," she admitted, sweeping her hand around her lab.

Samuels looked at all of the equipment, wide-eyed. "There are a ton of machines down here," he said, slightly awestruck.

"Yes," Abby replied. "They're all part of what I do."

Dwayne rolled his eyes and grabbed Samuels' arm. "Let's go, kid," he said, pulling him towards the elevator. "See you later," he called back over his shoulder to Abby.

"Tell Claire I said hi!" she said, waving as the two disappeared. She turned back to the box that the bug-like probie had put on the table. "Now, what do we have here?"

--

Saima hadn't spoken since the men had left. She sat in the corner with a vacant expression. Though she allowed Ziva to check her injuries, she said nothing during the examination, merely sitting in her place with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ziva's eyes burned with tears of her own. They had brought this child here to torture her, in hopes that it would affect Ziva enough to spill the information that they knew she'd been withholding from them thus far. Saima made a small noise in her throat as Ziva gently brushed her upper arm, and Ziva looked down. Blood oozed from a small cut there.

Khalil had hit her so hard that her skin had burst.

Saima was covered in bruises, from her face to her legs, where she had been kicked. Khalil had uses his fists and feet to hurt her; no tools of torture had been used, but none had been needed. Once Ziva realized how to stop the abuse of the poor child, she'd given them what they wanted.

Or they thought she had, at least. Ziva was a practiced agent, and she knew just how much truth to mix with the lies she told to make her information seem credible. It wouldn't hold up to a thorough inspection, but it was enough to make them stop for the time being.

"I want to go home," Saima said. The tears were dropping into her lap, but her voice was clear. "I want to see my mother." She looked up at Ziva. "I want my papa to come home. If my papa was home, he would come and get me."

Ziva could offer the girl nothing more than soothing words, the stroking of hair, a hug that was not her mother's. It was all she could do, and for now, it would have to be enough.

Saima eventually fell into a fitful sleep, and Ziva continued to stroke her hair absently. Something about this didn't make sense. Her captors were Muslim; they were Arabic. Why would they snatch a child from Palestine? If they were aiming to torture her as much as they could, why choose a child that belonged to a culture that she had been taught to hate from birth? They could have, should have, chosen a Jewish child, an Israeli child. It wasn't that she wished this on anyone else; Ziva merely wondered why they had gone to such great lengths to get to this particular little girl.

Saima shifted in her lap, and Ziva murmured to her, meaningless words to soothe a battered soul.

"Saimaleh," she breathed, reverting to Hebrew, to a language that could express what she was feeling. "I will get you home to your mother. I promise that you will get home to Rafah, to Hiri, to your mama." She rocked the little girl in her arms. "I promise, Saimaleh."

* * *

The next few chapters are with my beta. I'll get them up when she's done reading them - please be patient, she's good at what she does!

If you're interested in reading what she's written, check her out. Her pen name is koolkels, and she's only just posted her first story. Leave her some love!


	13. Chapter 12

"So why are we here?"

Hadar stared at Tony. "We are searching for Officer David."

"No, really?" Tony muttered, then said more loudly, "I mean here, specifically. In Agadir."

"Ziva debarked from her ship here," Miri answered. "It is the last location that we have for her, before…" Her voice trailed off, but they all knew what she meant. _Before she was kidnapped. Before the torture._

"So what now?" Gibbs asked, arms folded. "Do you have some contacts here or something?"

"I know someone," Tony said quietly. "Well, he's a little outside the city, but he's reliable."

Everyone turned to stare at Tony, surprised. Gibbs finally spoke.

"How the hell did you get a contact all the way out here, DiNozzo?"

"Spent four months on the _Ronald Reagan_, boss," Tony reminded him. "You meet all sorts of people, all sorts of places. He's a good source."

"You go," Hadar said. "Eran will drive you. Miri and I have some leads of our own to track down. We will meet back here at-" Hadar checked his watch. "1900."

"1900," Gibbs repeated, turning to Eran. "Let's go."

--

Hadar didn't look at Miri as they walked down the street. He was studying the map in his hands, turning it this way and that. Finally, he handed the paper to the young woman.

"I cannot find the correct street," he grumbled. "My eyes are not what they once were."

"Do not let the Director hear you say that," Miri teased. They both knew that Eli David would never let his most trusted agent go. Miri studied the map, pointing out a small street after only a few seconds. "Here."

"Young eyes," Hadar said, and Miri wasn't sure if it was in congratulations or with jealousy. Miri folded the map and they resumed their walk, heading in a different direction.

They arrived at their destination fifteen minutes later. Miri walked in without announcing herself and stood in front of the small man behind the counter. Hadar waited outside, ready to rush in should something go wrong.

"Golan," Miri said unceremoniously. "What have you heard?"

Golan looked at her, unperturbed. "This is a good week to purchase bananas."

"Bananas?" Miri asked.

Golan looked her directly in the eyes. "Bananas," he said again, and his eyes slid deliberately to the screen that separated the front of the store from the back storeroom. "The woman who sells them told me that the prices will be going up soon. You should visit her this week. Today, actually. Today would have the best prices."

"I do love bananas," Miri muttered, nodding curtly to the man. She raised her voice. "Thank you for the advice, Golan."

Hadar looked at her as she walked from the shop. "To the market," she said. "We are going to purchase some bananas."

--

"You sure you know where we're going?" Gibbs asked for the third time since they'd gotten in the Jeep. Tony rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, where Gibbs couldn't see them. "Don't roll your eyes at me, DiNozzo."

…or maybe he could. Tony took the frames from his face. "I know where we're supposed to end up," he replied, as he had each time Gibbs asked. "Getting there is Eran's issue, not mine."

Gibbs leaned back in his seat again. "Just making sure."

Eran piped up from the driver's seat. "We should be there soon." He pointed into the distance, and the American agents had to squint to see the small building in the middle of the desert. "That is our destination."

"Now I know where we're going," Tony said, pointing and grinning.

--

"It was what?" McGee asked in disbelief.

"Suicide," Abby said, pointing again to the lines and letters jumping around on her screen. "Very dramatic, very… poetic, in a way, I guess."

"A poetic suicide," McGee repeated. "You mind explaining this whole thing to me?"

"Not at all!" Abby replied cheerily. "See, Private Michaels was sick. This-" she pointed to the first line, which spiked to the top of the chart. "-is cyclophosphamide. It's used in chemotherapy for a bunch of cancers. It's a really interesting drug, actually. It works by actually changing the DNA inside-"

"Abs," McGee said, trying to cut her off, but politely. He was beginning to understand why Gibbs got so frustrated when he started explaining every technical aspect of something he'd done.

"Right," she said. "Suicide. Anyway, Michaels had Burkitt's lymphoma. It's kinda rare, and it's really, really aggressive. Apparently, Michaels' cancer was getting pretty bad. He probably wasn't gonna make it for too much longer. So, instead of waiting and losing his dignity, and his hair and fingernails and stuff, he decided to just… end it."

"In a field?" McGee asked. Abby shrugged.

"I don't do the psych stuff, McGee. Talk to Ducky for that."

McGee sighed and headed for the door. "Thanks, Abby."

"I'm not done," she pouted, and McGee turned on his heel to walk back to her side. "Don't you want to know how he did it?"

McGee almost Gibbs-slapped himself. "I should probably know that, yeah."

"Took too much of his cancer meds," she said, clicking and typing on her screen, bringing up several windows at once. "The levels of chemo in his system were off the charts, McGee. Really, really high. I pulled some of his records and found out that he refilled three prescriptions last week." Abby's fingers flew, and the pertinent information came to the forefront of the screen, highlighted in yellow. "Based on the levels of the drugs in his system and what Ducky found in his stomach, it looks like he took all of them around midnight, walked to the field, and died."

"Poetic," McGee murmured.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Abby quoted. "Killed himself with the cure."

"Thanks, Abs," he said, heading back to the door.

"No Caf-Pow for good work?"

"You get a gold star," McGee's voice said from the hallway. "It's in your fridge."

"You put a star in my fridge?" Abby frowned, then turned to see the familiar cup sitting between a specimen jar and her lunch. "Oh! That's my favorite star!" she beamed, then frowned, looking towards the sky.

"Sorry, Proxima Centurai," she said meekly, taking the cup from its chilly home and sipping it lovingly.

--

Golan was waiting for them at the banana stand. "I do not want to involve my family in business matters," he said simply. Miri nodded.

"What do you know, Golan?" she asked. Hadar stood a safe distance away. Golan dealt only with Miri.

The small man leaned towards her now. "I have heard that a Mossad operative has been captured," he said in a low voice, pretending to inspect some of the fruit nearest to him. "A woman."

Miri nodded, trying to remain casual. "And?"

"And that the group that has her is…" Golan looked around warily, then dropped his voice even further. "They are very dangerous. Very."

"If they were not dangerous, they would not have been able to capture a Mossad operative," Miri said, pretending to be bored, disinterested, detached. "I know the officer in question. She would not have gone without a fight."

Golan nodded. "She killed one of their people before they took her into custody," he said. "Crushed his throat."

"Where?" Miri said, all pretenses of disinterest dropped.

"Near the dock." Golan picked up a banana and turned it over in his hands. "The body was pushed into the water. It is gone now."

Miri took a deep, calming breath. "Do you know where she is being held?"

"West," Golan said. "Out of the country. That is all I know."

"West," Miri grumbled. "West is a large place."

Golan looked apologetic. "I hope you find your friend," he said, before replacing the banana and disappearing into the crowd. Hadar was at her side in an instant.

"Did you get that?" she asked, voice low, as they walked back towards their hotel.

"Every word," Hadar confirmed as he put a small recording device in his pocket. "It is all on the tape."


	14. Chapter 13

Tony knew something was wrong as soon as the Jeep pulled up outside the small house. There was a woman in the front yard, sitting very still, with her hands drawn around her knees. The door to the house was open, and the woman was staring vacantly into the dark space.

Gibbs was out of the Jeep before it was fully stopped, Tony right on his heels. He approached the woman.

"Avia?" he asked uncertainly. He knew his contact's wife's name, but wasn't sure if this was her or not. Faiz didn't carry pictures. The woman's eyes snapped to his face, but she said nothing. "Avia, is Faiz here?"

The woman's eyes snapped back to the house and filled with tears. She still made no sound.

"I'm Tony," he tried. "I'm looking for Faiz."

"Tony?" the woman finally spoke. He nodded, relieved to have gotten through to her. He knelt beside her, and she began to speak, very quickly, in a language that Tony couldn't even begin to identify.

"Um, Avia…" he trailed off as the woman sped frantically on, gesturing wildly and occasionally saying his name.

"She says that two men came last night while she was hanging the clothing to dry," Eran said from his elbow. "They entered the house and fought with Faiz, then left."

"Fought how?" Tony asked, eyes never leaving Avia's face.

Eran asked the question, then listened as she spoke again. "Yelling, mostly. She did not hear anything that sounded like violence."

"I'm guessing they used the quiet kind of violence," Tony muttered. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that Gibbs is about to find my contact in there, in a slightly less helpful mood than he may have been at this time yesterday." He stood and began to walk towards the house.

Tony stopped moving when he felt Avia grab at his legs. She rose to her feet, and Tony was slightly shocked to see how small she was. The top of her head didn't even reach the curve of his shoulder. She looked him straight in the eyes and said something else, something that contained his name and the name of her husband more than a few times.

"She says that Faiz gave her something that she was only to give to you," Eran translated. "In case something happened to him."

"What is it?" Tony asked. Avia walked to the door of the house. She paused, glancing down the hallway to the last door, but turned in the first. She returned to the door quickly, thrusting a sheaf of papers at Tony, then retreating outside, saying something to Eran on her way out. He nodded as Tony began to sift through the stack of paper.

Tony stopped on one of the first pages. It was a photograph, and as Tony looked at it, he dropped the other papers to the floor.

It was Ziva.

She was with a group of men, and she appeared to be trying to kick one of them in the face. Tony dropped to his knees, rifling through the other papers. Most were photographs. Ziva stepping from a ship, Ziva meeting someone in an alley, Ziva surrounded by men, Ziva fighting. Ziva on the ground, apparently unconscious. Ziva, slung over one of the men's backs as they hauled her away.

A piece of paper with a handwritten note in English fell to the floor. Tony picked it up, recognizing the blocky writing as that of Faiz.

_This is your girl, from your picture. I remember her face. I could not help her. I am sorry._

Tony remembered in flashes: the picture of the team he'd always carried in his wallet, that he'd shown to Faiz, him remarking about the pretty woman he'd been holding in the picture, his own slightly sad smile as he tucked the picture back into his pocket.

Faiz had seen her captured and had taken pictures to give to him. That was probably why he had been killed.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said from the back room. The room that Avia had looked at when she walked in. Tony rose and walked back to where his boss stood in the doorway.

"Your friend can't help us," he said grimly. "I'm not Ducky, but I'm pretty sure he was strangled."

Tony nodded dully. Faiz was draped backwards over the sofa in the center of the room, his feet hanging a few inches of the floor. His head was, thankfully, on the other side of the couch. He couldn't stare at Tony from that angle, couldn't accuse him of not getting there in time.

"The question is _why_ he was killed," Gibbs said.

Tony shook his head. "Got that one covered, boss," he said, handing Gibbs a selection of the photos and the note that Faiz had written. Gibbs studied them for a moment, reading the note first, then looking at each picture in turn.

"Girl from the picture?" he finally said to Tony. The younger agent responded by opening his wallet and pulling out a small photograph. They were standing in the bullpen, and there was a cake on one of the desks. McGee was wearing one of those pointy birthday hats, trying to look annoyed, but Gibbs could see the pleasure in his eyes even in the tiny picture. Tony's arm was around Ziva's waist, and he saw the sparkle in her eyes. Gibbs even glanced himself in the corner, not quite in the frame, but not totally excluded.

"Been in there since the day Vance broke us up," Tony said, looking away from Gibbs. "I showed Faiz once. He was talking about Avia, wanted to know if I was married. I told him no, that I had a different kind of family. I showed him this."

Gibbs put his hand on Tony's shoulder and squeezed it briefly. "We're gonna find her."

"Yeah," Tony said. "I know." He tucked the photo back into his wallet and returned the wallet to his pocket.

"Let's get back to the hotel," Gibbs said. "We can let the local LEOs know about your friend from there."

"Okay," Tony said, giving Faiz one last look. _I'm sorry,_ he thought.

There were still some papers on the ground in the hallway from where Tony had dropped the original stack. He knelt to the ground to gather them all together. Some had scattered quite far away, and as he reached for the last one, he froze.

A car. Faiz had taken a picture of the men loading Ziva into a car.

And there was a clear picture of every letter on the license plate.

Tony closed his eyes and thanked Faiz, wherever he was now. He'd been able to give them a lead after all.

* * *

Look for the next chapter either later today or tomorrow... we find out more about Saima's background. Finally!


	15. Chapter 14

Ziva fell into a fitful sleep after Saima had awoken, some hours after the men had left. Ziva had told the little girl to wake her if she heard the men return, or even if she just felt frightened or lonely.

"I will be brave," Saima had promised. "I will be the guard while you sleep." And she had sat up, as straight as her bruised body would allow, with her back to Ziva and her front to the door, watching intently.

So Ziva had closed her eyes and been whisked to a land of half-dreams and half-remembrances. She saw her father's face swirl up out of the blackness, then Gibbs, then the two of them talking. She saw Tony in a room with her sister Tali, saw McGee and Ducky and Abby having tea with her mother. Saima herself was even present, playing in a marketplace that Ziva barely recalled with another girl, about her own age. _Hiri_, Ziva's mind supplied. She saw friends and family, doing things in her mind that they would never have done in their lives, always flashes, never a full idea.

Suddenly, she was jarred into consciousness by small hands on her arm. Her eyes flew open and focused on Saima's scared face.

"I am sorry, Ziva," she said. "I know that you are very tired, but…" Her voice trailed off and she buried her face in her hands. Ziva sat and carefully gathered the small form in her arms. "I hear noises," Saima said, relaxing slightly. "I hear them and I think that those bad men are coming back."

"It is fine, Saimaleh," Ziva said, rocking the girl as she had done before. Saima stiffened in her arms and twisted to look up at her face.

"My papa called me that," she said softly. "Before he went away. He called me Saimaleh."

Ziva frowned internally. It was very unusual for a non-Hebrew speaker to add that particular diminutive to the end of a name. "Is your papa from Rafah, too?" she asked.

Saima shook her head. "He came from Israel," she said, playing with the ends of her hair. "He came to Rafah when he was twenty-two. He met my mama and they got married and had me." It sounded like a recitation, something she had told herself again and again.

"Israel," Ziva murmured. A Jewish child born in a Muslim country. That was why Saima had been chosen. _Maximum impact,_ Ziva reminded herself. Every detail had been painstakingly planned, and they had chosen the child that would hurt Ziva the most.

Saima turned her dark eyes to Ziva's face. "Does that make you angry?" she asked in a small voice. "Mama told me not to tell people that Papa was from Israel. Many people hate Israel."

Ziva smiled slightly. "I am from Israel, too."

"Then you hate me," Saima said, struggling now to rise from Ziva's embrace. "Israelis hate people from Palestine."

"Your papa does not hate people from Palestine," Ziva pointed out. "Not every Israeli hates every Palestinian. It is just… most of them, I suppose."

Saima's posture relaxed slightly as she settled back down. "You are like my papa," she said. "He called me Saimaleh and he is from Israel and he does not hate Palestine, and you are the same."

Ziva was certain that she and Saima's father were actually quite different, but she let the matter rest. If it gave the child some comfort, there was no harm in letting her believe it.

"Where is your papa?" she asked, and Saima looked away.

"I don't know," Saima replied, very softly. "He goes away a lot, for his work. Sometimes he is gone for a very long time, sometimes even for years. But he had been gone for so long now."

They both knew what that meant, but neither would voice the thought.

"It has been four years since he left," Saima said after a moment. "Before that, he was home for a very long time, for almost a whole year. We went to the marketplace sometimes, and he always kept me very close to his side. That is what I remember the most. He always kept me so, so close."

Saima was staring at the wall now, lost in her memory. "I remember his face, too, but not very well. I was very small then, when he left last time," she said, and Ziva thought that it sounded almost like an apology. Not to her, but to her father, whom she barely remembered. "When he left, he told me he would bring me a very special present when he came home from America."

Four years ago, her father had gone to America. Ziva's mind began to whirl. The girl's name was Saima. A memory, so distant that she wasn't sure how it remained in her mind, suddenly replayed itself in her thoughts.

"_When I have a baby, I will name him Aron."_

"_What if your baby is a girl?" Ziva questioned._

"_Then I will name her Saima."_

"_An Arabic name?" Ziva asked, skeptical._

"_It is a very pretty name."_

But she had been so young then, just a little older than the child she now held. Could it really have been…

Saima was still talking, not realizing that Ziva was only half-listening. "I think that he is still in America," she said resolutely. "I think that what he is doing is very, very important, and that is why he has not come home. Or written. Or called. If he does, then everything he has done will be ruined."

Ten years, almost eleven? The timing was about right. Everything fit. Ziva turned Saima slightly in her arms so the girl was facing her. She could see it there now, traces in the nose, the brow line, the shape of the eyes…

"Saimaleh," she breathed, trying very hard to remain calm, praying that the girl was not going to say what Ziva already knew in her heart was true. "What is your papa's name?"

"Ari," Saima responded simply. "Ari Haswari."


	16. Chapter 15

"I told you that you could do it!"

McGee smiled at Abby. "You have way more confidence in me than I ever will."

"Aw, Timmy," the forensic scientist said. "Give yourself more credit. You did a great job leading your team through your first case together, and you solved it really quickly!"

"_You_ solved it," McGee reminded her.

"I'm part of your team, McGibbs," she teased. Though McGee had rolled his eyes when she'd produced the nickname, he'd allowed her to use it. He was secretly a little pleased with himself for the quick closure and efficient teamwork that he'd been able to accomplish.

"We should go out," Abby declared.

"No drinking on a school night," he reminded her. It was an unofficial rule; not one of the Gibbs Rules, but something they tried to do anyway.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about alcohol," she proclaimed. "Get the kids together. I'll drive you and Dwayne can follow with the others."

Nikki declined, reminding the rest of the team about the dangers of eating food prepared in a public establishment ("How many people touch that food? _Think about it._"), but Dwayne loaded a slightly nervous Samuels into his car and was soon following Abby's hearse down the road.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside an Applebee's restaurant.

"Seriously?" McGee said as he climbed from the hearse. "We drove past two Applebee's to get to this one, Abby. Why?"

"This one has half-priced appetizers after nine," she explained, grabbing his wrist and walking towards the entrance. "The other ones don't start till ten. It's only ten past nine, McGee."

"Oh," McGee said, trying to regain control of his wrist and failing. He walked a little quicker to stand beside Abby so it at least appeared that they were holding hands instead of it appearing that he was being dragged by the energetic woman. When he managed to reach her side, she slipped her hand into his and began to walk a little faster.

"Abby, hold on," McGee said, trying to restrain her. "Dwayne's just getting out of his car. What's the rush?"

"Spinach and artichoke dip, McGee," Abby said, continuing to charge for the door. "Trust me, it's worth the rush."

Dwayne and Samuels joined McGee and Abby at their table a moment later. They put in their orders and talked about the case, about NCIS in general, about Gibbs (Samuels had several questions, some of which McGee felt it was better not to answer). They talked about things at home and general news. Abby laughed when McGee ordered a fruit-filled smoothie; everyone laughed when Samuels got carded when he tried to order a beer ("I'm twenty-six!"). They ate and drank and laughed and all became a little closer that night.

--

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

McGee groaned. What time was it? It was certainly early; the sun wasn't yet up, and it rose before six during July in DC. It was still quite dark outside.

"McGee," he half-moaned into his phone. The bedside table read 3:57 AM.

He listened for a minute, making accepting noises at the appropriate times, then hung up. He rose from the couch in his apartment and went to his room to dress.

A groan came from the bed. "Dark out," Abby muttered. "Not fair."

"I know," McGee muttered, then raised his voice slightly. "Stay in bed, Abs. If something comes up and we need you to come in, I'll give you a call."

"Okay," Abby readily agreed. She was asleep again before McGee could say anything else.

McGee was on his way out the door no more than ten minutes later, dressed and ready for the long day ahead. He was on the phone with Dwayne a moment later, instructing him to call Nikki and Samuels, before he called Ducky himself.

"Woodley Park," he said as the medical examiner picked up the phone. Ducky didn't sound surprised or even exceptionally tired. "Meet me there as soon as you can, Duck."

--

In the bullpen, McGee surveyed his very tired team a few hours later. Morning had barely broken, and McGee was already considering sending the team to nap in shifts. Nikki had bags under her eyes and Dwayne was getting a bit snappy. Samuels was oddly energetic, though.

"Red Bull," the young man said, each strand of his red hair practically vibrating on his head. "Figured I might need the boost this morning."

"If it helps," McGee said, edging away from the young man. He'd personally picked up a cup of coffee on the way to the crime scene. He was beginning to see why Gibbs consumed the substance as if it were lifeblood. "What do we have?"

"Not much," Dwayne said, blowing out a breath. "Dead lady is a Marine's wife. Eve Clark. Husband's deployed, been in Afghanistan for almost a year. His tour's up in a week." Dwayne clicked through pictures as he spoke, projecting different images on the plasma: the dead woman, her driver's license photo, her husband, even a map of Afghanistan. McGee raised his eyebrow at the last, but said nothing.

"Home in a week," Nikki said softly. "Been a year. He's probably so excited to see her."

"They'll let him come home early, won't they?" Samuels asked, frowning. "I mean, his wife just died. Was killed. It was pretty brutal. It would make the situation even worse, even sadder, if they won't let him come home."

"They'll let him come back to take care of things," McGee said, eyeing the young agent. He looked a little sick, to be honest. "Samuels, why don't you go sit down or something?"

Samuels nodded and sat in his chair. "Sorry. When the caffeine rush wears off I get a little…"

"Okay," McGee cut him off, not really wanting to know the details. "Nikki, you find anything in the phone records or bank statements?"

"Nothing that pops out," Nikki said, shrugging and taking over at the plasma. "No numbers that she called more than any others, except for this one." She highlighted a phone number and pointed. "Her mother. Called her every day, and they'd talk for an hour, sometimes more."

"Doesn't pop out," McGee agreed. "Nothing else?"

"Nope," Nikki said simply. "Bank statements were all normal. Paid her bills on time, regular deposits from her husband's Marine pay and from her company, even made a weekly contribution to her church."

"Okay," McGee said, pinching his nose. "Dwayne, Nikki, get over to her company. Interview anyone there that needs to be interviewed." Dwayne nodded and grabbed the keys that McGee flung in his direction. He and Nikki headed to the elevator.

"Samuels…" He looked at the man sitting at Tony's desk. He was now slumped back in his chair. "Take half an hour, then meet me down in Autopsy."

Samuels nodded and put his head on the desk.

McGee walked towards the elevator, dialing his phone as he walked.

"Hey, Abby, hate to wake you," he began, then stopped as the doors to elevator opened. Abby looked out at him, phone to her ear. They both grinned as they hung up.

"What do you have for me?" she asked as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Woodley Park is a neighborhood in DC. It's near Rock Creek Park.

Also, I don't own Applebee's, although I wish I owned a copy of the recipie for the spinach and artichokoe dip. It's seriously delicious.


	17. Chapter 16

The Americans were not in their hotel room when Miri and Hadar returned. Hadar didn't care; he was tired and wanted to catch a nap before he had to work again.

"Old bones," he shrugged to Miri. He tossed the taped conversation to her. "I know that you want this. Wake me when they arrive."

Miri caught the digital recorder and nodded, sitting on her own bed with a pair of headphones and a pad of paper. Her training took over as she hit the play button on the recorder and began to transcribe the conversations she's had with Golan.

_They are very dangerous. Very._ Had Golan seemed nervous? More nervous than the situation warranted?

_The body was pushed into the water. It is gone now. _Nervous in his eyes, Miri decided. Not in his voice. His tone betrayed nothing.

_Do you know where she is being held?_

_West. Out of the country. That is all I know._

It was far from all he knew. Miri knew this, but not how to pry the information out of her suddenly quiet source. The group that held Ziva must be very dangerous, indeed, if they made Golan nervous like this. The man had fled more than his share of war-torn areas, always moving somewhere dangerous, somewhere that could keep him useful to the agencies he informed. His information had always been good, always checked out, and Miri had no doubt that what he had told her today would prove just as true as everything he'd ever said. It was just that she knew, _knew_, that the man knew more.

West, she decided, was a better place to start than they'd had before. Hopefully the Americans would have more information when they returned.

Miri was startled by a knock on the door. Hadar was instantly awake, and the two officers both drew their weapons and stood by the door. Hadar looked through the peephole, relaxed slightly, and holstered his gun.

"The Americans," he said, opening the door. "Is it 1900 already?"

"No," Tony said, bursting into the room. He turned to Miri. "We have something."

"As do we," Miri said. "She is no longer in the country."

"She left it in this," Tony said, producing a photograph from a sheaf of papers in his hand.

Miri studied the image. A car, license plate included, could be clearly seen and identified. There were men shoving a strangely compliant Ziva into the backseat.

She looked up at Tony, who handed the rest of the photographs to her. She silently flipped through the stack, realizing that Ziva had not been compliant but unconscious.

"This must be the one she killed," she murmured when she came across a photograph of a man lying on the ground, head attached at an unnatural angle. "He said the throat was crushed. I think he meant broken neck."

"Who said?" Tony asked. Miri looked up from the papers in her hands, remembering suddenly that there were others present.

"My source," Miri replied. She handed the pictures back to Tony, who held them protectively. "She was captured by a dangerous group and taken from the country. He told me that Ziva had killed one of her attackers before they overpowered her."

"Can we see the body?" Gibbs finally spoke. Miri shook her head.

"It was over a month ago, Agent Gibbs," she said. "My source said that it had been thrown into the water anyway. You will find no report."

"Can we track this vehicle?" Tony asked, fishing the photograph of the license plate from the stack of papers.

Miri studied it. "It is a Moroccan plate," she said after a moment. "We should be able to get an idea." She tapped a few keys on her computer to bring up a window and entered the eight digits. The screen began to flash words, very quickly, and Miri set the computer on a table. "Let it run," she said.

Tony nodded. "So all we know is that she's no longer in Morocco."

"West," Miri said. "She is west of here."

"Go far enough west and you're back here," Gibbs pointed out. "It's a lot of area to search."

"From what we know, she is being held in Africa," Hadar spoke up. Three heads turned to face him. "I think it best to continue in that assumption until we find evidence to the contrary."

"Your source took some dangerous photographs," Miri noted, picking through the pictures again. "Faces, scars, tattoos. He is lucky he was not seen."

"Not so lucky," Gibbs said, and Tony looked away. "Dead in the living room."

"Yet these were left for you to find?" Miri frowned. "That seems odd."

"That is kinda weird," Tony said slowly. "The place wasn't even tossed. They weren't hidden that well, either, I guess. It only took Avia a minute to get to them."

"That car will not lead us to her," Hadar said. "If they were not worried about you finding these photographs, then they probably switched cars not long after this was taken. In any case, it is unlikely that they would remain in the same vehicle for the entire time."

Tony's shoulders dropped as he realized the truth in the elder Mossad officer's voice. "I didn't think of that."

Miri spoke as her computer beeped. "The information should still help." She turned the computer around for the men to see. "Look familiar?"

The registration photo was grainy, but Tony had no trouble identifying the man. He pointed to the top photograph on the stack. "It's him."

"They used their own car," Hadar said in amazement. "What audacity."

"Name's Hakim Zidane," Gibbs read, flipping open his phone. Tony knew that he was sending a message to Abby that would have a detailed response in short order. "Anything else?"

"Native of Algeria," Miri read from the screen. "Remchi. It is a small town, about twenty kilometers from the sea, but not very close to anything else."

"How soon can we be there?" Gibbs asked, snapping his phone shut. Miri was already typing away.

"We can be on a plane at 2300," Miri answered.

"Pack your bags," Gibbs said, leaving the room. Tony grabbed his stack of photographs and followed.

"They used their own car," Hadar said again. "Who could be so stupid?"

"It is a stroke of good luck," Miri said, already packing items in her travel bag.

"It certainly is," Hadar agreed finally, rising to put his own things away.


	18. Chapter 17

**Warning:There's some stuff in the italicized section that isn't for the faint of heart. If you don't want to read it, skip to the very end and pick up at the last few lines.**

* * *

Tony hated _waiting_.

Waiting was useless. Waiting meant that they were stagnant, weren't doing anything, weren't helping her.

And that was really the rub, wasn't it? It wasn't that he wasn't doing anything; it was that he wasn't doing anything for her. He couldn't help her from an airport, couldn't run in and save her while he was on a plane, couldn't hold her while he was a thousand miles above her.

Tony knew exactly why he blamed himself for this situation. Hell, he had a scar to remind himself of the event that had started everything. If he hadn't killed Rivkin, had just shot him in the leg as she had so angrily suggested after the fact, had just done things by the damn rules for once in his life (_that's what they're there for_, his inner-McGee said), she'd be back in DC now. Sure, she'd be sleeping with Rivkin, and he'd still be miserable about that, but she wouldn't be miserable. She'd be happy. She'd be safe. She'd be there, teasing and provoking him as was her right, her duty.

Tony shook his head. This was the other reason he hated waiting – it always led to thinking, which was very, very dangerous.

If he had just _apologized_, though – could this all be different? Would he have been able to persuade her to get on the plane with them?

_This isn't your fault, Tony,_ inner-McGee reminded him, as he had that day in the elevator.

Sometimes he hated inner-McGee.

_Yes, it is,_ he insisted. If he had done any one of a million little things differently, they'd all be in DC right now, working on… well, whatever McGee was currently investigating. They'd be doing that.

"DiNozzo." Gibbs' voice cut through Tony's thoughts. The elder NCIS agent was standing in front of him. "You coming?"

Tony jumped up and followed their group onto the small plane. It was only the five of them, plus the crew; the Mossad team had been able to schedule a flight on one of their own vessels that was heading to Tlemcen, the nearest airport to their destination.

Tony returned to his thoughts as he strapped himself into the plane. Not his fault. Right.

He tried to refocus on what they knew. She'd been taken while in Agadir by unknown agents who were, according to Miri's source, "very dangerous." Ziva had killed one of them, but the body had been dumped into the water and was gone. His own source had given them the only clue that they really had, and Faiz had paid with his life, yet the pictures had remained in his home.

The more that Tony thought about this particular fact, the more it bothered him. If the terrorists had known that Faiz had the pictures, sure, he wasn't surprised that the man had been killed. But Avia had been in the back yard, and she had been unharmed. An organization good enough to subdue and capture Ziva would have known that Avia was present. And why had they not tossed the house? They knew about the pictures. It was why Faiz had been killed.

What Hadar said had made sense, though. They would ditch the car as soon as they could, especially if they knew it had been photographed – it was probably sitting within a few blocks of the site where Ziva had been taken. It really was lucky that they had used one of their own cars in the heist.

They still should have taken the photos. Unless…

Tony scooted to Gibbs. "Boss," he said under his breath. Gibbs looked at him, but didn't say anything, waiting for Tony to continue. "What if this is some sort of distraction?" he breathed.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"They should have taken the pictures," Tony said. "They should have at least looked for them. This seems… convenient."

Gibbs shrugged. "Convenient or not, DiNozzo, it's all we have to go on right now."

Tony had to agree with this point. And, he thought, Remchi was west of Agadir. West was the only real clue that Miri's source had given them. He sank back into his seat and closed his eyes for a moment and, before he knew it, was asleep.

_She was lying on a dirty floor. She was very, very still, and Tony noticed that her chest was barely rising and falling._

"_Ziva," he tried, but got no response._

_He tried to walk towards her. His feet felt cemented to the floor._

"_Ziva!" he called, frantic now. He sighed when she raised her head, but choked it off into a gasp of horror as he got a look at her._

_She was bruised, broken, bleeding. Her nose was askew and her left eye was swollen entirely shut. The skin around it looked bruised and tender. Blood trickled from the corner of that same eye, and Tony wondered if it was from the beating or damage to the eye itself. A dried bloodstain reached from the line of her hair to the bottom of her chin. Her hair was matted, and her clothing was wrinkled, dirty, the same clothing she'd been wearing when he'd last seen her._

"_Ziva," he said helplessly, a broken record with leaden feet, who couldn't reach her to offer help or comfort. She smiled at him, and the look was frightening._

"_What do you want?" she asked, and her voice was low, gravelly._

"_To help you," he replied. Wasn't that obvious?_

"_How can you help?" she asked rhetorically. "Why would you even want to?"_

"_You're my partner," he said fiercely. "Partners help each other."_

_She shook her head, still on the floor. "You helped me get here," she taunted. "Do you know what they do to me?"_

_Another man was suddenly behind her, and Ziva calmly spoke as the man struck her again and again._

"_They beat me. They break my bones. They hit me and hit me until my skin bursts and I bleed from a thousand tiny blood vessels."_

_Stop, Tony wanted to say, but he was frozen. He couldn't move, couldn't stop the man who was beating her, couldn't even speak._

"_Sometimes they beat me with wooden bats," she said, and the man behind her obliged, bringing a piece of timber down on her leg. There was a sickening _crack_ and Tony could see that the leg was now twisted in a way it hadn't been before, a way that wasn't natural._

"_Sometimes I just want to go to sleep," she said, and the man disappeared. She laid back and closed her eyes._

"_Don't," Tony said, now frantic. He found that he could move now, and he sped across the space, skidding to a stop and falling next to her. "No, don't sleep. You have to stay awake. Don't do this to me."_

_She smiled, eyes still closed. "Why should I stay awake? If I go to sleep, everything goes away."_

"_No," he said, trying to be firm, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "No. You're a crazy strong ninja chick and you have super powers. You need to stay awake."_

"_Why?" Ziva repeated._

"_Because I'm coming," Tony replied forcefully. "I'm coming, and you need to stay awake until I get there."_

"_I will try," she said, and her eyes opened again._

_Tony sat back, relieved. "I'm coming."_

"DiNozzo." A rough hand shook him from the dream. "Wake up. We're here."

"Oh," Tony said, blinking the sleep away, but trying to retain the dream. He was the last off the plane and into the car. Nothing was said on the drive to the hotel they had decided upon; they would make the short drive to Remchi in the morning.

Tony thought about the dream, thought about watching her calmly speak while the man beat her, recalled her wanting to sleep. He focused on the last thing he'd said. He thought it again, hoping that wherever she was, she got the message.

_I'm coming_.

* * *

A huge thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! I love reading your thoughts, comments, and critiques about my work.


	19. Chapter 18

It was so easy to see, now that she knew it was there.

Saima looked very much like her father, like Ziva's brother. They had the same exact eyes; eyes that Ziva remembered staring at her in shock, dead eyes, as the blood pooled under his fallen body, only Saima's were still full of life and fading innocence. Their facial structure was similar, though the young girls' face was more rounded than her father's had been. Ziva had always thought, privately, that Ari had looked like a hawk, lean and predatory. Saima even had traces of Eli, of her grandfather, in the way her brow crinkled when she was thinking of something.

So easy to see. Why hadn't she connected the spots earlier?

_Dots,_ she corrected herself automatically. She had made that mistake before. She remembered Tony correcting her, and her own adamant point that dots were spots, were they not? And Tony had laughed and shaken his head, and…

Why was she thinking of this now? She had more pressing things to occupy her mind and her time. She had to get herself out of this mess. More importantly, she had to get her niece out of this mess.

Niece.

Ziva glanced at Saima, who was occupying herself by writing in the dirt on the floor. Her fingers traced through names, places, things she remembered from home. She hadn't told the girl; there was no need to reveal that information. It might upset her and, besides, there was no way to be sure that the girl would even believe her. When the time was right, she would tell Saima. They were related. Ziva was her aunt.

Perhaps she should give herself more time to come to terms with that fact before she told the young girl.

Ziva thought back, thought about the moments after Saima's revelation.

"_Ari," Saima said. "Ari Haswari."_

_Ziva froze. Every muscle was tensed, and she could not move, could not even breathe. It seemed to go on for hours, but a split-second later, she was going on, breathing, talking to Saima. Her Mossad training had taken over._

"_Ari Haswari," Ziva responded with a forced smile. "What is your mother called?"_

"_Imane," Saima said. "That is our family. Ari and Imane and Saima."_

"_That is a lovely family," Ziva murmured, tightening her grip on the young girl. Family. They were family._

Ziva shifted now. Family. How would her father respond? And Saima's mother, Imane, did she know that her husband had a family in Israel? She had accepted her husband and his Israeli origins, but would she be so accepting of an aunt and a grandfather who still lived in and worked for that country? Perhaps she had known of Ari's duplicity, and that was why she had accepted him.

Ziva sighed and dropped her head back against the wall. That was another thing she didn't need to be thinking about right now. How were they going to get out of here?

All thoughts were broken off a minute later as the door swung open. Saima was between Ziva and whoever had entered, and the little girl rushed frantically for the older woman, who was doing her best to get to her.

Khalil stepped between them, chuckling. "Ah, so you have formed a connection," he said, as if commenting on the weather. "Good."

His foot swung out unexpectedly and caught Ziva in the chest, sending her flying onto her back. He reached down, picked Saima up, and walked from the room. The door slammed shut and the bolt was thrown before Ziva could fully catch her breath.

She could hear Saima's cries as the young girl was carried down the hall.

Ziva put her head in her hands. She was beginning to wonder if the goal had changed from trying to extract information to merely torturing her; Khalil had kicked her and taken the girl, but not asked any questions. What could the purpose be? Why would it no longer be considered important to get information from her? And even if that were the case, why would they keep her alive only to torture her – why not just kill her and be done with it?

This did not make sense.

Ziva wracked her brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be going on, but nothing came to mind.

She was still sitting in the same position on the floor when the door opened, probably more than an hour later, and Saima walked in. Walked, under her own power. She was clean, her bruises had been tended to, and she was wearing fresh clothing.

"What happened?" Ziva asked urgently, and Saima looked up at her, confused.

"They took me to a different room," she said. "They told me to bathe myself, and they gave me clean water and new clothing, and then a man came in and put some bandages on me."

This made even less sense, Ziva decided. Why kidnap a poor child, beat her half to death, leave her for days, then fix her up?

"That man, Khalil," Ziva said, trying to work through things as fast as she could. "Did he say anything to you?"

Saima nodded. "He asked me about you," she said, her dark eyes looking down suddenly. "I wanted to be brave, Ziva, and not tell him anything, but he had magluba sitting there, on the table, and he told me that if I told him what he wanted to know, I could have some." Ziva saw a few tears splash onto the floor. "I am very sorry."

"It is fine," Ziva said, reaching out and touching the girl on the arm. "Magluba is very tasty, and you were very hungry."

Saima sniffed and nodded. "It tasted just like it does when my mama makes it."

Ziva couldn't help herself; she smiled, a tiny little smile. "It must have been very, very good then, yes?"

Saima finally looked up. "It was," she said.

"What did Khalil want to know?" Ziva asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

Saima frowned. "He did not ask me very hard questions. He wanted to know what we talked about. I told him that we talked about my mama and my papa and Hiri. Then he gave me the magluba and brought me back here." Saima paused and looked away again. "He told me not to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Ziva asked, instantly wary.

Saima looked nervously towards the door. "He told me to ask you things," she said hesitantly. "About America."

Ah. Now the little girl was being used to garner information from her. It was a good tactic on the part of her captors; treat the little girl well and promise her more if she would just report back to them and keep it a secret. They had underestimated the bond that Saima had formed with Ziva, though.

Ziva finally felt a bit of relief. This could be used to their advantage.

"Ask me the questions," she said to the little girl. "I will answer them, and you can tell Khalil everything I say, okay?"

Saima nodded, confused. Then, "Oh! You are going to-"

"Shh!" Ziva warned, looking towards the door. She nodded.

Yes, she was going to lie.

* * *

Sorry. I was going to post this yesterday, but ffn had a minormeltdown, as I'm sure some of you are aware... well, here it is :) Also, happy birthday to me!


	20. Chapter 19

"I'm sorry, McGee," Abby said, trying to be comforting. "I can't just fabricate evidence. I can't make this say something if it doesn't say anything."

"I know," McGee said, sounding frustrated. "But you're telling me that the guy who killed Eve Clark left absolutely no physical evidence at the scene. Nothing. Not a shoe print, not a strand of hair, a fingerprint, a cigarette…"

"I'm not saying it's not weird," Abby reassured him. "It does seem hinky."

"Nothing," McGee replied, deflating suddenly. He dropped into a chair and stared at the computer screen in front of him, which unhelpfully reminded him that they had exactly zero clues with which to work.

"Well," Abby mused, "maybe the fact that I didn't find anything is a clue."

McGee just looked at her. "How is that helpful?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know yet," she said optimistically. "But it could be _huge_." She tapped McGee on the nose with a finger to emphasize her point.

"Okay," he sighed, standing and heading to the elevator. "You let me know if you figure out why that's huge, Abs. I'm going to see if anyone upstairs has found anything."

As if it had been waiting for the cue, McGee's phone began to chirp. He grabbed it quickly and opened it. "McGee."

He listened intently, frowning. "Where?" he asked at one point, surprise evident in his voice. "Okay. On our way." He clicked the phone shut and looking at Abby.

"Keep working on your nothing there, Abs. We have another body."

"Where?" Abby called as he practically ran from the room. McGee stopped in the doorway and looked back at his friend.

"Woodley Park," he said. "Right where we found the last body."

--

McGee thought about what he had said as he stood over the body. He'd already had the team take pictures and statements from the responding officer and the man who found her. McGee studied the photograph in his hands, then looked back at the body on the ground in front of him. He shuffled the photos in his hands, finding another. He moved to the other side of the body, glanced at the picture, then back at the woman on the ground.

She was, as he had said earlier, right where they'd found Eve Clark. The odd thing was that the woman was _exactly_ where Clark had been, right down to the last detail. She was lying on her right side, right hand curled under her body and touching her cheek. Her left arm was positioned along the curve of her left side, as if balanced there. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. McGee checked the photograph again, then looked back at the woman. They were even wearing similar clothing.

"It would seem that the phrase 'been here, done this' is oddly appropriate, would it not?" Ducky remarked as he stooped to walk beneath the crime scene tape. "Two in one day. This is not a good sign, Timothy."

"Yeah," McGee muttered. "I figured it probably wasn't."

Ducky conferred with Palmer for a few moments before sending the younger man away for the gurney. Ducky stood and turned to McGee.

"My initial observations here are consistent with what I found on the first victim," Ducky said. "I will need to check to be certain, of course, but I would work on the assumption that this crime was perpetrated by the same individual as the one this morning."

McGee nodded, focusing again on the woman's body, looking for any slight difference, any indication that this was some sort of copycat, or even a bizarre coincidence. He already knew, somewhere in his mind, that he wouldn't find what he was looking for.

--

"What do we know?" McGee asked, striding into the bullpen later in the evening. Dwayne looked up from his desk, tapping a few keys and bringing a new set of photographs up on the plasma screen.

"Andrea Simone," Dwayne said. "Married, two young kids, stays at home with them rather than working. Husband's a tax lawyer."

McGee frowned. "No connection to the Navy?" he confirmed. "Or to the Marines?"

"Doesn't look like it," Nikki said, joining them at the plasma. "Mr. Simone does tax law and has no apparent interest in any sort of military connections. He didn't even do ROTC in high school."

"There's no connection," Dwayne declared. "Is it some sort of coincidence that the first lady was a Marine wife?"

"They're related," Samuels piped up from his desk. The rest of the team turned to stare at him. The young agent was focused on his computer, and waved them to his screen impatiently. "Look. I found the link."

McGee reached over and pointed to a series of keys. "Put it on the plasma," he instructed. "We don't have to crowd around your desk if it's-"

"Oh," Dwayne interrupted. "There's the connection. Good catch, kid." He shot Samuels a smile, and the redheaded man grinned back.

"Andrea Simone," Nikki read from the screen. "Sister of one Corporal David Clark, husband of our first victim, Mrs. Eve Clark."

"That's good work," McGee said to his team. "Keep looking. Get anything you can. People they both knew, anyone they might have had a problem with, anyone the husband's ever even argued with. Talk to everyone." He paused. "I'll be available on my cell," he said finally. "Call if you need me, but only if you actually need me."

"Where are you going, boss?" Samuels ventured.

McGee stopped to send the younger man an exasperated glare. "Don't call me boss," he said, almost automatically. "I'm going to talk to the family." He continued his stride, entering the elevator and disappearing from view.

Nikki looked puzzled. She turned to Dwayne. "Shouldn't we be the ones doing that?' she questioned. "I mean, we told them about Eve this morning…"

"Can you imagine losing two family members in one day?" Dwayne responded, looking at the closed doors of the elevator. "At two different times?"

Nikki shook her head. "It was bad enough this morning," she confirmed. "This is going to be terrible."

"I think he's doing it to spare us from having to, honestly," Dwayne said, shrugging. "Let's dig up everything we can while he's out. After an experience like he's about to have, he'll need some good news when he comes back."

The team got to work.


End file.
